


Best Friends And/Or Lovers

by klassmartin



Category: Pitch Perfect (2012)
Genre: F/M, one shots, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-28 10:19:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 44,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klassmartin/pseuds/klassmartin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set of one shots and short stories (recent bulk chapter update).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beca, you ready?

**So I started writing the other day and this happened. Just a quick thing. Might copy some other authors and make this into a one-shot collection for anything I do on the side. Let me know if that interests you!**

**Disclaimer for the non owning thing.**

**I dedicate this to all my wonderful readers of Killing Me Softly, for all their support and wonderful words of encouragement. You all truly blow me away.**

* * *

"Beca, you ready?"

She isn't happy. Beca doesn't want to be going to the airport and flying across the country. Well, she does, but the plane she's scheduled to board is going in the wrong direction. Beca wonders if she can secretly exchange the ticket in her hand when she gets to the airport.

Her bedroom is empty now, apart from that stupid pair of fluffy pink handcuffs that sit on her bed, a joke present from someone insignificant. Everything else is going with her because her mum is moving again, living with some guy Beca has no intention of learning the name of. She gives their relationship four months. And she's jealous of that, because Beca has four _years_. It hardly seems fair.

"Yes mum," she says in a bored tone, sighing as she hauls her last bag – her most precious one - out of her bedroom. She doesn't pause before closing the door on it. Beca isn't one for looking back.

"You got everything?" Her mum is counting suitcases in the back of the car, playing with her keys and avoiding eye contact with her daughter. Beca doesn't bother to answer her question and instead just pulls the front door closed and climbs into the passenger seat, her laptop bag securely on her lap. Her music is all she cares about really. It will be her only solace through the next four years of torturous hell, more commonly known as Barden University.

Her mum is climbing in beside her and starting the engine. During the car journey, there is no acknowledgement of her leaving, and Beca presses her lips together as she nods along to her music that blasts through her headphones. She does not expect a tearful goodbye from her mother, and is glad. Beca will not waste her tears on leaving either; as much as she hates what her father is forcing upon her, it isn't nearly as bad as what she is leaving behind. If she had managed to survive eighteen years there, how hard could it be to survive four years at Barden? All she had to do was keep her head down and let the music inspire her.

* * *

"Beca, you ready?"

Stacie turns to her friend and they smile at each other nervously. Nodding, Beca watches the Bella's get themselves in zone for what she is sure is their best performance yet. She turns and sees her boyfriend smirking at her, his arms crossed as he stands at the helm of the huddle of Treble's. She raises an eyebrow, her expression full of attitude and competitiveness. His smirk grows and he jogs towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She grins back and pulls him close with her hands clutching his biceps, placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

It is their last acapella competition together and there is a touch of sadness in the air. In ten minutes, they will have both performed their last set. Beca is beyond finding it surprising how depressing this thought is. She has long ago accepted her undeniable love for all things Bella, and the thought of it ending threatens to bring her to tears. But as she looks up into the eyes on her boyfriend, she knows that not everything will be ending in the next few months. Beca knows that Jesse isn't going anywhere, and neither is she.

"I love you."

They look at each other in stunned silence at their joint proclamation. The words they had both never said to each other had been announced in perfect unison, and it catches them off-guard.

"You love me?" There it is again, the unison thing. It makes them laugh and they're both feeling high as a cloud. The way they are so perfectly in sync is both scary and exhilarating. They kiss as they smile, knowing that no matter who wins tonight, no matter who takes that final trophy, that it doesn't matter. Both of them are winners because Jesse loves Beca and Beca loves Jesse and nothing can ever possibly spoil that.

* * *

"Beca, you ready?"

She lets out a shaky breath and nods at her father, linking her arm through his. He pats her hand and smiles at her. "You look beautiful," he whispers and she tries to smile back but she is so nervous that she thinks she might pass out. She takes her last moment to smooth down the material of her ivory dress, hearing it ruffle as she tries to shake out some of her anxiety. She curses Jesse for talking her into this ridiculous wedding.

Beca hadn't even been aware she was walking but suddenly there is, walking down the aisle, a hundred smiling faces staring at her. Some are tearful, most are grinning. She can't bring herself to smile, despite the pleasant harmonising of the old Bella's and Treble's as they re-create the Wedding March for her. She's uncomfortable and unsure and focussing far too much energy on subduing her old instinct to, well, basically, not do exactly what she's doing; promising to spend her life with Jesse no matter what.

But then she sees him, rocking back and forth on his heels and grinning at her like a lunatic, his suit impeccable and incredible and then she realises all her nerves are for nothing. Because when her dad passes her hands into Jesse's, she knows that there is no other place she'd rather be. She'll go anywhere he persuades her to go, because he's Jesse and she's Beca and they don't know how to live without the other around. Making a show of their vow to stay together forever was simple because they had no intention of doing anything but.

If Jesse wanted to show off all that he'd achieved in making her love him and agree to lawfully commit, then she'd let him. Because she loved him. And also because she secretly wanted to show off her achievement at somehow getting a guy as out of her league as Jesse to love her unconditionally. Not that she'd ever admit it.

"You look even more beautiful than Molly Ringwald," he whispered to her as they took their positions in front of Fat Amy, who had somehow managed to convince them that letting her marry them was a really good idea.

Beca rolled her eyes at him. "Let's just get this over with yeah? We're going to miss Grey's Anatomy if this drags out too long."

His eyes sparkled at her and she grinned as he returned her eye roll. He ran his thumb up the side of her fingers and she felt the air between them change as he became very serious, his eyes shining at her. She squeezed his hands, Amy's beginning speech barely registering in their minds as Jesse and Beca wordlessly vowed to love each other forever - in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse – all through a simple meeting of eyes.

* * *

"Beca, you ready?"

"Do I bloody look like I'm ready?" she seethes through her teeth, sweat dripping down her face.

"Just keep breathing, he'll get here!" Chloe tries supportively, wincing as her friend squeezes her hand too hard. She is hunched up on the hospital bed, hair scraped back the best it can be, a slight smudge of ruined mascara still on her right cheek. She is trying to ignore the pain in her stomach, trying to forget that there is a baby forcing its way out of her  _right now._

And Jesse isn't here.

He's missing the birth of his baby, the one he just  _had_ to have, and she hates him.

She wants nothing more than to march over to that stupid studio and throw that giant piano at him. Twice. Because she knew that would hurt, it would probably kill, but there is no way it could ever hurt as much as she hurts now.

Damnit where is he?

"Alright honey, it's time to push!" The midwife calls from somewhere between her legs, but Beca is shaking her head.

"No, tell that baby to have some patience, I am that kids mother and" – She screams out in agony as there is another contraction, and as much as she tries she can't help it. Her body is pushing and she sobs with the effort to stop, because she hates Jesse for doing this to her. He had insisted a baby would make them a family. He had insisted she would be a great mum. And it was his stupid puppy dog eyes that had made her cave.

Nine months of torture carrying around his dream and he's going to miss this?

Chloe strokes her hair but it just makes Beca cry more. Chloe isn't the right person; she needs Jesse.

"What did I miss?" Jesse bursts into the room frantically, his jacket already half off as he rushes to her side, taking in her agonising expression and her very angry eyes that Jesse is pretty convinced will turn him to stone.

"This isn't some football match," she hisses at him, tugging her hand away from his. He can't help but smile at Chloe on the other side of his wife, who hands him a flannel so he can mop her brow. Beca reaches for his jaw and pulls him to her, kissing him desperately. He kisses her back and then climbs up onto the bed to sit behind her.

"I will never forgive you for this," she insists, her hands balling up at her sides.

"I love you too." Jesse kisses her sweaty temple, letting her lean back against his chest. He uncurls her fingers and presses his palms to the back of her hands, their fingers laced together. She is tired and drained of energy and just wants to be somewhere else.

But she can't be, because another contraction hits and she screams, her hands clutching Jesse's, barely hearing the whispered encouragement in her ear. It's excruciating and she hates that she thought she was tough enough to not need drugs. Yet with Jesse there, holding her and supporting her, she feels just the tiniest bit better. He's always had some weird mystical effect over her.

And then the wail silences the room and Beca feels it. The beginning of motherhood.

* * *

"Beca, you ready?"

"Just a second!" she shouts frantically, throwing clothes about the room. Damn it where is it?

"Somehow I don't think the school will accept that as a reason for lateness on the first day!"

She mimicks his voice childishly under her breath but rejoices when she finds the camera, rushing down the stairs in a flash and skidding to a stop because there, standing in the living room, is her four year old daughter, Mollie, her royal blue uniform too big and too clean, her shoes too shiny and new. Her brown hair is plaited to fall over either ear.

"Oh no, Mummy's getting emotional!" Jesse laughs and takes the camera out of her hands, the flash quickly staining her eyes as he takes photo after photo of their shy little daughter. Molly smiles as instructed, and Beca makes a mental note to send the photos to their parents and friends the moment they get back from taking her to her first day of kindergarten. She knows the old Bella's especially will freak out at their niece looking all grown up.

The walk to the school a few blocks away is full of emotional glances and supportive touches as they swing their happily shrieking daughter between them. It feels like four years has gone by so quickly, and suddenly the tiny newborn baby with the big brown eyes like her father is no longer small enough to fit in the crook of her arm. She talks now, she walks, she's going to _school_. She's so grown up and Beca can't believe how her life has turned out.

They watch Molly run excitedly into the brightly painted building, Jesse's arm around her as they let their daughter go off into the big wide world for the first time.

"I can't believe we actually raised that. I can't believe she's ours."

"Yeah." She sighs dramatically but keeps her tone casual. "It's a shame we have to share her. Good thing we have another one on the way I suppose."

Jesse turns towards her with wide eyes, the beginning of that beautiful grin she so loves developing as he registers what she's saying. "Aca-scuse me?"

She punches him lightly in the arm and he laughs. "Don't be mean to me, I'm carrying your baby." His eyes sparkle at her words and she leans in closer. "And I'm not above using said baby as blackmail."

* * *

"Beca, you ready?"

She shakes her head as more tears fall helplessly, and she wishes she could stop, but she can't. It's all just too tragic to handle and she grips Jesse's shirt tightly in her hand. She can't see much anymore because there are too many people around, but she doesn't care; she stares at the spot she last saw her daughter and clings to the memory.

How did parents manage to send their kids off to college each year?

Jesse's arm is around her and she knows he's trying not to cry too, can hear the effort in his chest. She takes a deep shaky breath and wipes the tears from her face, wondering when she got so damn weepy. Jesse had seriously ruined her during their twenty six years together.

"Mom, can we go now?" Their 14 year old son, Billy, appears at her side, his bored expression the perfect replica of Beca's old one from her freshman year. He even has her eyes to match. Just seeing her son makes her begin to cry all over again, and Jesse rubs her arm supportively. She feels old and nostalgic and pathetic all at once.

The Swanson's climb back into their car, the parents reluctant to leave, the children ready to go home. One half of Beca's favourite and yet most stressful surprise in the whole world winds up the other half and the six year old twins begin to scream in the back.

"Tilly! Sam! What have I told you about trying to be The Karate Kid?"

Two adorable faces turn towards them and recite perfectly together. "Not in the house or the car."

Beca grabs Jesse's hand as they take their last look at the college, completely different yet somehow exactly the same. Barden University had been their perfect beginning, and they owe everything to the beautiful campus. She wonders if her daughter will end up feeling the exact same way; will she meet her happy ending within its walls?

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Jesse squeezes her hand and smiles at her, the beginnings of his laughter lines creasing his face. She smiles back because she knows he's thinking the exact same thing. He's thinking of how they first saw each other on this day twenty six years ago. He's thinking about when they met, when they fought, when they kissed, when they got married, when they had their beautiful children. She decides it's strange that she owes it all to the band Kansas and the movie The Breakfast Club. She knows it doesn't matter, because all that matters is her family with Jesse, the man she never asked for but got anyway. Oh, how she loves him.

"Beca, you ready?"

"Only if you are."

* * *

**Reviews? Please? :) Just reread it and realised how fluffy it is. Makes me laugh.**

**Pink fluffy handcuffs have appeared again! Yeah it seems to be a thing to have them around...**


	2. I Told You So

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca's terrified to go back, to see how much damage she might have done. But she can't bear life without Jesse, no matter how scared she is of an "I told you so". One phone call is alright though, isn't it?

The line is quiet for a minute after he finally answers on her fifth attempt. Neither of them know how to start. Neither of them want to start; they are stubborn and despite knowing the pain of their month apart, they will not break the silence first. Because Jesse is mad, he is furious, and Beca is embarrassed and unusually vulnerable. To combat this, she takes the position that she had made the effort to call, so it is his turn to try.

If he doesn't try, she knows it is over.

His breathing is shallow and even, just like when he sleeps. She wonders for a second if he  _has_  fallen asleep. If maybe he has answered accidentally, and that is actually why he is not talking. But it's not rational, and she knows it, because she can hear him pacing in the kitchen, like he does when he's trying to decide between two difficult options. But before, a little over a month ago, those difficult decisions had been what to cook her for dinner, or what tie to wear to his important meeting the next day.

Now, he is pacing because he's deciding on their future.

Beca hugs the pillow against her chest tighter, lying in her hotel bed in a fetal position. She hates this stupid hotel. She hates how appealing it had once been, with its large bed and beautiful furnishings and it's glorious view. The room is cosy but wrong. It's not home and it makes her heart ache.

She wants to go home. She wants to go back to Jesse.

Her aching heart misses him with everything she has. She is so far away, there are so many thousands of miles between them. She has made a mistake and learnt her lesson, and all she wants now is to be back in his strong arms and feel him stroke her hair and kiss her in that way that makes her dizzy.

Putting that into words is so hard though.

There is a reason, of course, as to why Beca will not talk. She is scared. She is terrified how things will turn out. If she starts talking, they will discuss her leaving. They will clash and it will be a huge disaster, and Beca can't have that. She'd rather be separated from him than lose him forever.

So she stays silent, because she can see how this is going to go.

"Jesse, I want to come back home."

He huffs and she can tell he has stopped pacing. "Do you now."

His voice is emotionless, sarcastic, and it makes her wince. This isn't her Jesse; her Jesse is full of bubbly emotions, full of smiles and easy retorts and cheesy movie lines. Where is her Jesse? That Jesse would know just what to say, would know just know to fix this. This is the downside, of course, to your best friend being your boyfriend (she cringes at the word, it feels too juvenile for what they are. Were. She isn't sure anymore.), in that when you argue with one, you do not have the other to lean on. She sniffs, her voice becoming quieter. "I… I don't want to be alone. Being away from you, it's too difficult."

He is quiet for a moment, and she imagines him falling into one of the kitchen stools, his head in his hands the way he always does when he is put in an awkward position. "Are you really serious right now?"

Beca curls up into a ball tighter; she feels at risk, like she's going to be broken any second. "Jesse, please."

"I told you this would happen. I told you taking that stupid job was a mistake."

"I thought it would-"

"No, Beca, you didn't think." His anger is building in his voice and she shrinks away from her phone. "You ran, because that's what you do. The slightest hint of more commitment and you're gone."

"I didn't run, I just thought this internship would be good for me! For us!"

"How is you being on the other side of the god damn country good for us?!" There's a slam of a fist on marble and she can hear it coming in his voice. She knows him so well, knows everything about him, but this tone is new. It's unfamiliar. Because he's never broken her heart before. "You're there because of your own selfish reasons. You didn't even consider me in your decision."

"Jesse." She is crying, and she knows he can hear it, but he doesn't soften. He doesn't try to comfort her.

"Beca I love you, but I can't do this anymore. I'm tired of being the only one to fight for us. This relationship is exhausting and I can't, I can't cope with all the heartache."

"Please, no-"

"Goodbye Beca."

She keeps quiet, because if she doesn't, that is what will happen. And goodbye is not an option for her.

So she lies there for an hour and listens to his breathing, her eyes closed, her mind imagining him there, the length of his body pressed to hers as he holds her, his thumb gently tracing where her ribs end, nose buried in her hair. She falls asleep in relative comfort for the first time in a month, letting his breathing soothe her and take away her deliberating thoughts.

* * *

 

A week passes and still neither of them speak. There are anxious phone calls from their friends, who have realised there is a bigger issue at foot than their usual Avoid-Fight-Kiss, and try (but fail) to patch things over. She learns snippets of how he is from Benjie, who claims Jesse is in a tailspin at work and needs her back, even if he won't actually admit it. Aubrey, who lives close by, says she saw him putting boxes out for charity. Beca wonders if he is serious enough to throw out all her stuff. Donald insists he wants to talk to her, that he wants her back, but all that does is make her realise that maybe he considers them over. He thinks they have broken up and she feels even more alone.

But it is Amy's comment that does it. Her life-altering observation is what makes her grab her already packed suitcase and head straight to the airport, catching the first available flight to New York City.

"I keep hearing some girl's voice in the background, and he always tells her to shush. Every time I call she's there, no matter what time of day."

And that is why she is standing outside their apartment building, on the other side of the street, looking up to the fourth floor where their kitchen window is. And she wants to move, she wants to run to him, but she is frozen in her spot.

Because there he is, a beer bottle in his hand, a smile on his face. He looks happy and she can't ignore the way her gut clenches, how it makes her want to pass out or curl up in a ball and die, because when he moves a woman appears. A beautiful woman. She's drinking wine and laughing, her hair long and falling across her face.

She wants to run. She wants to kill the bitch who's eyeing up her man. She wants to move in any way, but she can't, because she's stuck fast, unable to tear her eyes away.

And because he can feel her, because his eyes are tuned to always find her, he glances out of the window and sees Beca in her grey leather jacket, hand gripping her bright red suitcase, the rain beginning to pour and blend with her tears.

The bottle falls from his hand.

He doesn't notice. He's too transfixed at her standing there. Watching him watching her. She looks terrible, rumpled and exhausted, her face bare of its usual eyeliner. She knows she looks terrible and that this will make him worry (she knows he is angry and thinks he is moving on, but he is a worrier, and she knows he will worry at her sorry state). She knows he is confused, because how could he have expected to see her here?

She knows he is not surprised when she begins to run.

Beca supposes it should have been obvious where she was aiming, but she doesn't think about it. She just lets her legs take her away, away from the image of her boyfriend with another woman, away from the home they have shared for over a year, away from the perfect life she had before she screwed it up and flew away.

Aubrey lets her stay in the guest bedroom, and Beca doesn't move for two days. She lies on top of the sheets, her back to the door and her eyes trained on the grey clouds outside the window, trying to ignore the crushing, all-consuming pain of her heart being well and truly broken.

None of her faithful Bella's can fix her. Stacie brings ice cream and sad movies, but just seeing a disc makes her ache ten times worse. Chloe attempts to serenade her down the phone but music just makes her think of the reason she went to LA, the reason it all got so screwed up in the first place. Amy sends her videos of her teenage self wrestling strange animals. It's amusing but she doesn't even crack a smile.

She doesn't eat, she doesn't sleep, she doesn't do anything. Her life has been turned upside down and she doesn't know how to cope.

So she just lies there.

She becomes so accustomed to it, she doesn't hear the door squeak as it opens. She doesn't hear the whispers of concern. She doesn't hear the footsteps.

But she can feel him, because her entire being is tuned to know where he is, and so she closes her eyes and listens to his breathing. That breathing may be all she has left. She lets it wash over her, lets it soothe her oversensitive emotions, and does her best to commit it to memory.

When she finally opens her eyes, he's in front of her on his knees, his brown eyes full of anguish and pain. With a mind of its own, her hand shakily raises to touch his cheek, like she's checking he's actually there, that she isn't dreaming this or imagining him. He is really kneeling there, watching her, and when his own hand raises to capture hers and lace their fingers together, he is touching her and the emotional dam she has built to stop herself falling apart strains at the seams.

"I miss you," they whisper in unison.

He turns her hand over and presses a kiss to her palm, lowering it to lay over his heart. She feels its strong beat, feels his familiar warmth. It's comforting and agonising all at the same time.

"Come home," he pleads, his eyes earnest, his eyebrows raising in the middle, enhancing his pained expression.

Beca doesn't know what to say, so just lies there, watching him, trying to keep her emotions in check.

He doesn't find what he's looking for so he lets her hand go. It falls lifelessly onto the mattress and Jesse sighs, turning away, trying to figure out what to say.

"I spent my whole life before you on my own," she finds herself murmuring. He turns back to her, surprised, letting her finish. "I have never needed anyone else in my life until you. And now…"

She stops and his breathing hitches, watching her eyes glaze over. "And now?"

"I've never felt so alone, now I've lost you."

And she begins to cry, her damn broken, all pretenses gone, because he's spoilt her with his major part in her life, so major that she has forgotten how to live without him. He makes it worse by raising up on his knees and scooping her into his arms, bringing her to his chest, cradling Beca close as she falls apart.

"Oh Beca," he agonises. "You haven't lost me. I'm still here."

She can't get any words out, so she just continues to sob into his shoulder, his scent so familiar and soothing. But she can't help thinking about that woman's face, her beautiful hair, her easy smile. Has she smelt him this way? Has he held her close like this?

"I can't believe you think I'd… Freya is a work colleague, we're working together on a track for the movie we're assigned to."

Beca continues to avoid his gaze so Jesse pushes. "I'm yours Beca. Forever. Nothing will ever change that."

"You mean that?" She says tearfully, finally looking up at him. He smiles but it is not happy, he is concerned and sincere. His nod only confirms it and Beca realises her mistake.

She twists out of his grasp and kneels beside him so she is facing him. She has missed his eyes, his soft hair, his strong jaw, his smile and his adoring personality. She has missed everything about him.

"You're right. I took the sponsorship job because I got scared." She avoids his gaze, staring at her hands in her lap, watching as he takes them both and encloses them in his own. He is being gentle, cautious, trying not to spook her. He doesn't see that she hasn't got the energy to run anymore.

"And then you ignored my calls."

"I knew you'd be mad. I didn't exactly say goodbye." Beca recalls the note she left, cringing as she realises how much that must have hurt. It was terrible to do, it went against everything their relationship was based on, and she knew it. But she let her fear get the better of her, and she hates herself for it.

"I waited every day for you to come home. Any second, I thought, any second she'll come through that door." She finally looks up to see him looking away too, staring at the dent in the bed where she has spent the past two days. He doesn't seem angry and it surprises her, making her frown and drag his face back with her finger under his chin.

"You're the most incredible man I've ever met," she says through her surprise, thinking aloud, "Probably the most incredible man that's ever existed. How on earth did you fall for a disgrace like me?"

"You are anything but a disgrace Beca." He smiles, just a curving on side of his mouth, but it's a smile. "You are crazy and unpredictable and my god do you infuriate me sometimes." His smile grows and Beca can't help but smile back, because he's right. "But you are perfect for me. You are everything I need and yes, I was furious at you going to LA… But I love you far more than that anger."

Beca wipes a tear away and nods, because he is just so perfect for  _her_ , and he's so good and pure and amazing.

"I knew you'd come home to me Beca. Because I know that you love me too and that's far more powerful than your instinct to run."

Beca doesn't know what she did to deserve this incredible man, but suddenly her five years as his girlfriend don't seem enough. Five years should feel like an age but it doesn't; it feels too short and too fleeting. She needs more, she needs him by her side, she needs forever. There's no amount of time in the world that could ever amount to how long she wants to be with him,  _needs_ to be with him, because he is essential to her survival. Without Jesse, she is nothing. She is just a shell of person, because everything good, everything important and special about her, is from him. He is truly her better half, and she loves him with her whole being.

"Ask me again."

It's said through a breath and barely audible, but Jesse doesn't need her to repeat it. Her eyes are clear, and she is perfectly serious, waiting expectantly. He grins as he exhales and watches as she raises herself up, her weight on her knees as he sits back on his feet.

He grabs her hands and kisses her empty ring finger lovingly.

"Beca Mitchell, will you marry me?"

She answers very simply by letting go of his hands, grabbing his face, and pulling him up to her height, crashing her lips to his in a blissful kiss.

As they break away he rests his forehead against hers, smiles spread across both of their faces with her hands in his hair and his arms around her tightly.

"You know our marriage is basically just a legal agreement to continue your movication for the rest of your life right?" he jokes, his thumb running across her ribs in that way she loves so much.

But Beca just laughs, because she's too happy to come up with a retort, and honestly, if being subjected to watching movies with Jesse for the rest of her life is what their marriage will entail, well, she doesn't think she'll mind that all. Because they make him happy, and he makes her happy, and that's all that really matters.

Forever may not be long enough for her, but she'll take it, as long as they're together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when you wake up to your itunes shuffle still playing and a pack of biscuits beside you. Carrie Underwood has a way of speaking to my inspiration at 7am. I hope you enjoyed.


	3. 8 Ways To Say I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse tries many times to let Beca know how he really feels about her (and even though he doesn't always manage it, she still knows). - Based in R. McKinley's 8 Ways To Say I Love You.

**1 – Spit it into her voicemail, a little slurred and sounding like the shot whiskey you downed for courage. Feel as ashamed as you do walking into work in last's clothes. Wake up cringing for days, waiting for her to mention it.**

"Becaaaaaa! So I know it's late, and you're probably sleeping or whatever it is you and that silly ear spike do at night but – anyway, look see, so I'm out – The Treble's dragged me out and we're at this house and – no Donald I don't want that – ah; no; wh –" A pause. "Okay so anyway, the reason I am calling Miss Mitchell is to let you know that – and listen closely here – you are a  _terrible_ friend. I mean, we have been stacking those stupid unused CDs for 3 months and – not that I don't love that – but you are still very rude to me. You do not let me make you laugh! I mean, who does that? So Beca, the Becanator, the out of this world Beca-naut, I want you to know – because it's important to me – that you  _suck_. You don't even like movies! Let me tell you, when you told me that last week I – I'm sure part of me died. Like actually shrivelled up and died. But it's okay because I'm going to teach you. I'm going to show you how the awesome people live. And I want you to know that – despite how lame you are with your non laughing and your hatred of such beautiful productions that is the movie word – I love you anyway. Really, I accept your flaws and I continue to allow you to be my – No Kolio give that back –"

Beca could not help the smile that spread across her face as she finally finished listening to the slurred message the next morning, and she couldn't stop smiling when she listened to it for the second time, or the third time. She listened to it until she had memorised every word, every pause for breath, every change in pitch in his voice. And when she finally stopped and left for the station, where she sure enough found a very hungover Jesse, she couldn't stop smiling at how, when he saw her, his face paled as if he had only just realised what he had done.

"Relax Swanson, I'm not going to bite your head off for drunk dialling me."

The glint in her eyes suggested she was actually okay with it, and he felt himself relax a little more. "I know."

She turned to continue working, but after a moment she spun back to him. "Though Beca-naut? Really? That's out of this world lame."

His head appeared around a shelf and he smirked at her. "You prefer Becanator?"

"I prefer plain old Beca."

"Well I think you're anything but plain." He looked sincere, and Beca couldn't do anything but try to swallow the lump in her throat. "You're at least an 8, a definite nine if the ear spike disappeared."

He raised his eyebrows suggestively and, unable to help herself, she allowed herself to laugh. "In your dreams, Swanson."

* * *

 

**2 – Sigh it into her mouth, wedged in between teeth and tongues. Don't even let your lips move when you say it, ever so lightly, into the air. Maybe it was just an exhalation of ecstasy.**

Jesse didn't know how to cope. There were a million things running through his brain – had she seen the movie? Why did she choose that song? What exactly did she want? Could see wear those jeans around him all the time? He couldn't stop thinking, and his hands were shaking slightly as he applauded loudly with the rest of the crowd.

She was walking off stage, and to his delight and horror, was aiming straight at him.

He didn't know what to do, didn't know what he could possibly say to her, because it had all been such perfection, and the wrong words could shatter that and he didn't want to ruin it. Beca had let him in, she had sung to him in front of everyone, and now it was his turn and suddenly the guy who'd made all the moves for the entire year had absolutely nothing.

Except he had made all the moves, and now she was finally responding, and he suddenly felt very, very cocky.

"Told you," he said smugly as she approached him. "Endings are the best part."

"You're such a weirdo."

And before he even realised what was happening, before he could register how her hand grabbed his neck or how she lent across the row of seats or how she was smiling at him, that smile was pressed to his lips and he was kissing her. The girl he'd dreamed of kissing a thousand times, the girl all his thoughts revolved around, the girl who had given him multiple headaches while he tried to figure her out. That girl was kissing him and it was enough to take his breath away.

And in that breath were whispered the beginnings of an  _I love you._

* * *

 

**3 – Buy her flowers. Buy her chocolate. Buy her a teddy bear, because that's what every romantic comedy has taught you. Take her out to a nice restaurant where neither of you feel comfortable and spend the whole night clearing your throat and tugging at your tie. Feel like your actions are more suited to a proposal than the simple confession of something you've always known.**

Jesse couldn't believe he was doing this. He didn't understand how he had gone from asking Beca to a simple meal before they left for home for Christmas, to this…  _Embarrassment_ of a thing that was happening and he couldn't stop.

"Are you serious right now? This is what you made me dress up for?" she said in amused disapproval.

"Oh come on Bec, it's not that bad. Don't you like it even a tad?"

The room wasn't horrific, not really. Sure, he had persuaded Amy to help keep his girlfriend out of the rehearsal space they rented so he could move in the large tree and decorate it perfectly. And yeah, so he had filled the place with as many tea lights and tree shaped candles he could find. And he may have possibly gone overboard with the hundred red roses and individual petals scattered around the red and green plaid picnic blanket that sat under a large basket and an expensive chocolate advent calendar. Sure, there was a teddy bear the size of a small child holding a pillow that had her present resting safely inside but so what?

Okay, it was horrific. He was really not happy with himself over it.

Which is why, when she turned in his arms so her chest was against his and her arms were around his neck, he was surprised at the smile on her face. "Maybe I like it a little," she said with her mouth, while her eyes said she loved it.

How was she so incredible?  _Wow,_  he thought,  _I really do love this girl_.

* * *

 

**4 – Whisper it into her hair In the middle of the night, after you've counted the space between her breaths and are certain she's asleep. Shut your eyes quickly when she shirts toward you in askance. Maybe you were just sleep whispering.**

It was perfectly silent in the Treble house, as the moon light poured through a crack in the curtains and the smell of her hair filled his nose as she snuggled closer into his body, her back warm against his chest. She rested a hand over the one that lay over her waist, holding her close, and he laced their fingers together, loving how she sighed gently in her sleep.

God she was so beautiful. He loved when she slept his arms, and he found himself hating Aerosmith for making it such a cliché to stay up and admire the way someone slept, and he hated Twilight for making it creepy. He knew if she ever caught him, she'd go crazy, but he couldn't bring himself to care. There was something about the way she was so unguarded, so at peace, that made him fall that much harder for her.

Because he did. He fell for her everyday. From the moment she swore at him in the morning for waking her up to the moment she stopped stroking her thumb across his knuckles when she fell asleep, he fell for her. Over and over, harder and harder, deeper and deeper. Every time he thought it wasn't possible to love her anymore – because he did, he loved her, achingly so – she would do something that made the impossible possible.

Like, for example, when she breathes out and he just catches his name, barely there, so soft he sometimes thinks he's making it up, but it's there. And she breathed it then, in that moment, when he was thinking of all the ways he loved her and how beautiful she was, and that is why, in reply, he kissed her hair and whispered the words he'd been dying to tell her for what seemed like far too long.

"I love you."

And when she tightened her grip on their joint fingers and he allowed his eyes to close happily, he knew he'd never love anyone else but her.

* * *

 

**5 – Blurt it out in the middle of an impromptu dance party in the kitchen, as clumsy as your two left feet. When time seems to freeze, hastily tack on "in that shirt" or "when you make your award-winning meatballs" or, if you are feeling particularly brave, "when we do this." Resume dancing and pretend you don't feel her eyes on you the rest of the night.**

"Jesse you better get down here quick!" she shouted up the stairs to his room. "Otherwise I'm giving the pancakes to Benji and Donald!"

"Which we're totally fine with so please take your time!" Donald called after, laughing along with Beca as she walked back into the kitchen to wash up. Jesse was late, had been in the shower too long, and the smell of pancakes made him rush even faster. He threw on a pair of jeans he had abandoned the night before, and grabbed any shirt from his cupboard, before sliding down the bannister to get there all that faster. When he reached the kitchen, he found Donald making a beat, as Beca sang the lyrics, her hair falling from her ponytail, his shirt from last night swamping her, a ratty pair of leggings keeping her dignity intact. She swayed her hips and her head to the beat as she sang along to a popular Michael Jackson song, her hands immersed in soapy water.

He doesn't know why but suddenly he found himself speaking. "I love y-"

But then he stopped, because it was wrong. He couldn't tell her he loved her for the first time in front of Donald, in this completely unromantic and completely random situation. When it was so easy for her to run, to panic and cut her losses. Everything about him telling her now was wrong, so instead, he finished his sentence with an awkward, "…how you're so easy going about being held captive as the cook for your arch enemies."

"You watch too many movies Mister." There's an edge to her voice when she throws back her retort, and he wondered if she noticed his slip. "You gonna eat your damned pancakes? You got class in twenty minutes."

So he sat down and grinned at her when he realised she had already prepared his pancakes the way he liked – chocolate chips and peanut butter were devilishly delicious – and faked stabbing Donald with a fork when his friend tried to steal a bite. He kept normal and pretended his stumble over his words never happened, and he ignored the way that for the rest of the day, she watched him with an unusual gleam to her eyes.

* * *

 

**6 – Write her a letter in which the amount of circumnavigating and angst could rival Mr Darcy's. Debate where to leave it all day – on her pillow? In her coat pocket? Throw it away in frustration, conveniently leaving it face up in the trashcan, her name scrawled on the front in your sloppy handwriting. Let her wonder if you meant it.**

Beca winced as the door squeaked, walking on tip toe to try and avoid waking her boyfriend who slept soundly in their bed. It had been a year and a week since they first kissed (not that she kept track of things like that, though she didn't know just because of the ICCA's that the Bella's had managed to win once more that day) and this time around, as she celebrated their win with the rest of her friends, she had the thrill of being able to go back to Jesse who had gone back to their hotel room early after getting a headache.

Last year was the awkward talking-everything-over evening, but that year, Beca was happy to know she could just climb into bed and lie in his arms as she did most nights.

She shut the door behind her, her eyes darting to the figure in the bed to check he didn't stir, and she slipped her shoes off as she tugged at the sleeves of her jacket. Once she grabbed one of Jesse's shirt from his still-packed suitcase, she padded through to the bathroom, her mind still tingly from the win and the two glasses of champagne she'd been forced to have. It had been the perfect day, and she switched on the light in content, unable to stop the grin that developed as she thought of how much beauty there was in her life.

She blamed it all on Jesse, and she was grateful every day for all he'd done.

She got to work getting ready for bed, brushing her teeth and striping off her finals outfit in favour of the shirt, unable to resist sniffing at the neck of the t-shirt. Wow, did her man smell good. She chuckled to herself at her possessive thoughts, rubbing off the last of her eyeliner with a make up wipe.

But just as she was about to deposit it in the bin, something caught her name. There, in the bin, was a crumpled bit of paper, her name just visible along on part.

Confused, she pulled it out, laying it on the counter and flattening it out with her hands so she could see what was important enough for her name to be written in what was quite clearly her boyfriend's infamously terrible scrawl.

_I have had no idea how to say this to you. I have fretted over it for months – well, more accurately, years. Because I've known for so long. Since the moment I met you I knew just how special you are._

_You're the most special thing in all the world to me._

Beca gasped, a hand over her lips as she let her eyes scan ahead, trying to understand was going on. And when she saw the end, she dug her nails into her lip, because she was angry that she'd skipped ahead, that he'd chickened out, because he was asleep and all she wanted to do was scream.

_It seems silly, really, how I can't imagine life without you. The ratio of how long I've known you to how long I haven't proves, really, that I could live without you. Because I have. For 18 years I've lived without you, so really, I know I can. I know if you leave one day, I could carry on surviving. I could exist without you._

_The point is, I don't want to. I know already that I will never choose to live without you, because that world where you aren't there? It sucks. It's stupid and ridiculous and no fun at all. I choose to live by your side, for the rest of our lives, as long as you'll have me._

_I love you, Beca Mitchell. I love you so god damn much that it makes me hate you a little, how easily I fell for you, how my love for you just consumes everything about me._

_I love you. Always and forever._

A tear splattered on the page and she realised that she was crying. Jesse had made her cry and he wasn't even in the room. She exhaled, a breath she hadn't realised she was holding, and let herself read it over and over, memorising the words just as she still had his message memorised, letting herself learn every word, every stroke of the pen.

The only way it could be better was if he had said the words to her himself.

She clutched the letter to her chest, closing her eyes as she tried to gain control of herself, trying to figure out why on earth he had written this, and why he had thought to throw it away. Which is why, when a gentle knock disturbed her, she yelped in surprise.

"Beca?" a sleepy voice mumbled through the door. She wiped her cheeks quickly when she realised who it was. "You okay?"

"Yeah I'm fine baby." She hissed when she realised what she said –  _baby?!_ Why would she say baby? She'd never said that in her entire life!

"You coming to bed?" she heard a thump and she imagined him leant against the door with her forehead, trying to stay awake.

Panicked, she scrunched the letter up in her fist, and when she's sure there's no evidence of tears on her face, she pulled open the door, giving him time to straighten up so he won't fall. She smiled at him, threading an arm around his waist, and walked back to the large bed, partly supporting his weight.

"You have fun?" he asked sleepily as he climbed into bed.

"The best." Her answer was hollow but he didn't seem to notice, so she settled in next to him, letting him pull her against him into his arms.

"Goodnight Jesse," she whispered, feeling the kiss he pressed lazily into her shoulder.

"Goodnight," he mumbled, then chuckled. "Baby," he added, tightening his hold around her for a moment before his breath became even on her neck. She was tense, and didn't know how to relax her muscles, so she let the way his body moulded to the shape of hers soothe her, show her that he was with her and not going anywhere. Jesse was still completely hers.

Not only that, she realised as she peered at the fist holding his letter, but Jesse  _loved_ her.

* * *

 

**7 – Wait until something terrible has happened and you can't not tell her anymore. Wait until she almost gets hit by a car crossing Wabash against the light and after you are done cursing at the shit-for-brains cab drivers in this city, realise you are actually just terrified of living without her. Tell her with your hands shaking.**

"Beca? Beca!" He rushed to her, eyes wide with fright, and she tried to keep her head perfectly still while she reached out for his hands. She was sat on the end of a hospital bed, a doctor working over her in the middle of the ER.

"Hey, hey, Jesse its fine, I'm okay." He grabbed onto her hands and kissed the knuckles on each, smiling when she moved her hand to cup his jaw and stroke his jaw bone with her thumb. "Jesse, calm down, I'm fine."

The way she winced as the doctor finished his last stitch made him worry otherwise. "Did they check you over properly? What if you've broken something important? Have they given you a scan? Have they checked for swelling? You might have concussion or internal bleeding or something –"

"I fell off a stage, not a cliff." He saw in his periphery that she was rolling her eyes at him, but he was too focussed on the cut on her forehead, sewn neatly together 6 stitches. The doctor pressed a bandage over it and she winced again, her grip tightening on his hand for just a second, and it was enough to send him off on another tangent.

"I cannot believe Amy did this to you. I knew she was dangerous, with that exaggerated way she walks and the kraken thing and her unpredictability and –"

"It was an accident nothing more –"

"It could have been so much worse, oh god you could have so much damage, Bec you're so lucky you didn't land awkwardly or fall more –"

"Jesse stop focussing on the if's and look at me! I'm fine!"

His hands were shaking and when the doctor left to get her after care, he took her face in both his hands and kissed her desperately. "I was so scared Bec, when Stacie called and said they were taking you to the emergency room and that you'd fallen and cut open your head I just…" Beca saw the tears in his eyes as he pulled back to check her over, her face still in his trembling hands.

"Jesse," she said firmly, snapping his eyes back to him. "Stop freaking out. It's just a few stitches, I'll be fine soon enough. Worst case scenario I have a bit of a scar."

But he still looked terrified as he kissed her again. "I love you too much to lose you Beca. I can't imagine…" He shook his head, not realising what he had said. He put the tears that sprang in her eyes down to pain. "Just… I don't know."

He paused and let his hands fall down to hers again, watching her as she gaped a little, trying to form words. He sighed, and smirked at her. "Though really? A stage? If you're going to scar yourself, at least get a better story. Falling off a stage is just lame."

She gave him a tight smile, pulling him back for a gentle kiss. "I'll try and do better next time, okay?"

* * *

 

**8 – Say it deliberately, your tongue a springboard for every syllable. Over coffee, brushing your teeth side-by-side, as you turn off the light to go to sleep – if doesn't matter where. Do not adorn it with extra words like "I think" or "I might". Do not sigh heavily as if admitting it were a burden instead of the most joyous thing you've ever done. Look her in the eyes and pray, heart thumping wildly, that she will turn to you and say, "I love you too."**

That night, after Jesse had finally calmed down and had bought her back to his room, he had sat with her and watched their movie,  _The Breakfast Club_ , upon her request (he had been amazed too) and once it had finished, he had carried her on his back to her room – despite her insistence that a cut forehead didn't mean she was suddenly incapable of walking – so she could grab some things for the next day.

He was sat at her desk, scrolling through her mixes as she hunted through the wardrobe, smiling to himself as he remembered how each one went. Her music had always fascinated him. He could listen to it forever. He clicked play on one, the first she had ever played, and let it leak out quietly from her headphones that lay beside the keyboard, nodding gently to the beat as he continued to scroll, lost in the list of memories that reflected in each song.

"Jesse," she said hesitantly, and he pressed pause, turning to her. She was watching him, hovering by the foot of her bed, something in her hands.

"You ready?" He smiled at her, getting up out of the chair.

She paused, closing her eyes for a moment before opening them with a steely determination. "I love you too, you know."

Every scrap of air came whooshing out of his lungs as his mind went completely blank.  _What did she just say?_

"At the hospital, you said it," she explained nervously, seeing his shock. "And I've been waiting. I've been waiting so long. So I want you to know that I love you too, and that it's because I love you, have always loved you, that I have this." She stretched out her arms, and he noticed what it was then. A shoebox, with a small label on the lid.

_Jesse's I love you's._

"W… What is…" He was still in shock, his whole body recovering. He didn't understand what was going on, didn't understand why his heart was beating so fast. The whole situation was perplexing him.

She sat on the edge of her bed and patted the space next to her, Jesse following more on instinct than choice. "It wasn't intentional at first," she started, avoiding his eyes as she pulled off the lid and placed it beside her. "It was originally just a hiding place for – where is it – ah – hiding playing for this."

She held up a small USB to him and he stared at it like an idiot. "It's a recording," she told him, and he noticed her fingers start to shake slightly. "Remember when you drunk dialled me, back in freshman year? You told me I was a terrible friend." He nodded shortly and she continued. "You said I love you in it. I know you meant it more as a friendly I love you, not a romantic one, but it was the first time. And God that message… It stirred something in me. I listened to it so many times, Jesse."

She placed in his hand and wrapped his fingers around it, looking back into his eyes to smile at him. He was still speechless, but she could see the emotion there, how truly amazing he found it all. It spurred her on and she continued.

"Then you whispered it again, on the night of our first finals. I don't know if you even knew. I still don't, really, it was more of a sixth sense. Your lips moved and I just… I knew it. I knew you loved me." And with a simple shrug, she pulled out the jeans he had dreamed of her wearing, folded up neatly, and he took them from her, laying them on his lap.

"Bec-"

"Let me finish, Jesse," she said softly, touching his now functional lips and looking into his eyes. She wanted to finish, to finally show him the one thing she had left that she had hidden from him, and he nodded, knowing this was important to her.

"The third time wasn't so much spoken. But you had that look in your eyes, the same look when I kissed you, the same look you have right now, and I knew then that you were thinking it. I knew from the stupid bear and the candles and the whole absurd evening that was straight out of a vomit-worthy movie." She handed him a burnt out tea light, all of the wax burnt out, and then moved onto the next one.

"After that was the first time you said to me. You thought I was sleeping, but guess who fooled you?" She grinned at him and handed him another item of clothing. He opened it up to see it was one of his shirts, one he thought he had lost months ago.

"Watching me sleep by the way? Definitely creepy." But she grinned at him and he put the shirt on top of the rest of the growing pile in his lap, smiling back at her. He was beginning to really love this box and its hidden treasures.

"What next?" he asked when she paused, tilting her head thoughtfully as she looked at him.

"Pancakes," was all she had to say for him to remember, and he nodded, grimacing in embarrassment as he remembered accidently blurting the words out.

"Oh."

"Yes." She chuckled and handed him a plain silver fork. "You watch me sleep, I steal your forks. We're both a little creepy," she joked as he eyed it weirdly. He grinned at her and put it on the pile.

"You should know we blamed one of the freshman for that fork going missing."

She just shrugged and bumped her shoulder against his arm. Then she turned back to the box and, wordlessly, pulled out a crumpled bit of paper, clearing her throat awkwardly. Rather than handing it to him, she began to read. And Jesse gasped, because it was amazing but wrong – she wasn't supposed to have found that, she wasn't supposed to know about that letter. He wondered if she knew about the others. All the attempts he made that night, sitting in their room waiting for her to come back, trying to figure out how to tell her what he was trying to stop from bursting out of him.

When she finished, she had tears in her eyes, and he couldn't help it – he lent over and brushed his lips against hers. He went to pull back but she followed him, quicker, kissing him hard in a whole new way that was thrilling and made his stomach flutter with butterflies. It was love, he realised. She was kissing him with all the love she felt for him.

She pulled back, just enough to be able to catch her breath, and his nose bumped against hers. "So what about today?" he asked breathlessly. "I presume you stole medical equipment to symbolise it."

She laughed and carded her fingers through his hair. "I don't need to, I have you."

He kissed her again, ever so softly, and then she groaned. "That was so cheesy."

"Yeah, but it was also true," he breathed against her lips. And when she smiled and he swept the symbols to the floor, unneeded anymore, he pulled her into his lap and held her close, finally able to say the three simple words he'd been waiting to tell her for two years since the day they met.

"I love you."


	4. Reunion Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca and Jesse host a reunion dinner for all the aca-ballers (linked loosely to The Forgotten List)

"This is really something, Beca. Tell me, which restaurant did you pay to make it?"

I glare at Donald, whose mouth is quirked up cheekily. He shovels another fork full of meat into his mouth and Jesse chuckles from beside me. "Oh come on, Bec, everyone knows you can't cook."

I turn the glare on him, but our years together have made him immune, and his eyes twinkle in amusement. "I can cook just fine, thank you very much," I huff.

"Then why did I see all those delivery boxes in the trash outside?" Chloe interjects, and the crowd around the table laugh at my expense. Jesse rests a hand on my knee under the table and I look at him, my heart leaping a little at how incredible he looks in this moment, laughing and so blissfully happy.

It has been a year and a half since the attic confessional, and we're hosting a celebratory dinner for Jesse's big promotion. Most of our old friends are in attendance, crowded around the two dining tables (one of which we had to borrow from next door so we could fit everyone in) and there has been a pleasant buzz in the air all evening as the wine flowed and the friends all reconnected. Some of us have not seen each other for over a year, and it's nice to see them all again in the same place.

"Well either way, I think you did great, honey," Jesse says, smiling at me in a sickly sweet way that makes me scrunch up my nose.

"Call me honey one more time…" I lift my fork threateningly, and he backs away with a hand raised in surrender. The table chuckle at us and I feel my cheeks warm at how they watch us.

"So Aubrey, how's the stage school?" Cynthia Rose asks politely, looking down the table towards the blonde who can't stop the smile whenever she thinks of her successful business.

"It's great," she gushes, and Unicycle rubs her arm proudly. They had finally gotten together after bumping into each other five years after she graduated, and they had been inseparable ever since, marrying five years ago in the kind of lavish ceremony you'd expect Aubrey to have, and their four year old son was spoilt but adorable. "All the students are so talented, and we're starting to get some real recognition." She nods towards Stacie who sits beside her. "And Stacie is incredible. She's really upped our game with her dance classes. Everyone loves her."

Stacie smiles, unusually shy over the compliment. "They're good learners. I just guide them; they're all so talented anyway."

"I can just imagine you as a real life Honey Daniels," Jesse says as he cuts his food. The table goes quiet and he looks up to a dozen pair of eyes, watching him like he's crazy. "What? A guy can't enjoy the odd dance movie now and again?"

I roll my eyes in embarrassment and try to steer the conversation away from her poor husband. "Stacie was telling me earlier that you're thinking of expanding."

Aubrey nods thoughtfully. "It depends on expenses and everything, but we have a considerable sized waiting list. I think we could expand successfully. My aim is to get space more in the city than on the outskirts on New York."

"Just say the word and I'll call in on some favours," Amy says smugly, leaning back in her chair to stretch.

Aubrey looks at her in awe. "Are you serious?"

Amy shrugs. "Sure why not? No point being owed something if you don't claim on it."

Stacie grins at her. "Thanks, Amy."

"I will never understand your job," I say.

"I don't even understand it." Amy winks at me, still as ridiculous as she was back at Barden. I think about my first day there, where I first bumped into her, and have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself laughing. "All I know is that I'm important at some tv studio."

"Some tv studio?" Jesse scoffs. "It's the most sought after in the whole of LA!"

Again Amy shrugs, and she turns the attention to someone else. "Chloe, what about you?"

The once redhead, now bright blonde, looks up from her plate in surprise. "What about me?"

"How's the life of a housewife?"

"I'm not a housewife," she objects, but then she sees everyone's disbelieving stares and she shrinks back in her chair a little. "Okay I'm kind of a housewife." She rubs her slightly swollen belly absently. "But only because I can't stop being pregnant!"

"That's what, your fourth?" Cynthia Rose says, trying to count in her head. "You got Jayden, Kayla, Matthew…"

"And this little one is either a Tia or a Steven." Chloe smiles brightly, the smile only a mother can have when she thinks of her children at home with her husband, and Stacie lets out a little "aw!" I can't decide if I love or hate the fact I probably look that when I talk about our recent arrival. What has Jesse done to me?

"I don't know how you do it." I shake my head and Jesse chuckles from my left side, patting my hand sympathetically. "Four pregnancies in six years? That's just insane."

"Not every pregnancy is as fraught with issues like yours," Chloe says sympathetically. "I think everything that could have possibly gone wrong happened to you."

Jesse shifts uncomfortably and I know he is thinking about the difficult labour that almost tore us apart all those months ago. "Yeah well, the important thing is it all worked out well in the end."

As if on cue, a baby's wail echoes around the room from the baby monitor, and we both move to get up. He beats me up and pushes me back down into my chair, insisting he's fine investigating himself, and he disappears from the room up the stairs. I look around the table at all the eyes watching me in amusement and I narrow my own. "What?" I bark.

"Who would have thought our little Beca Mitchell… Being a mom!" Chloe says wistfully. I hear Jesse enter the nursery over the monitor and can't help smiling as he coos like an eighty year old grandma.

I roll her eyes again. "You guys suck."

"The girl with the bad attitude and the hatred towards anything and everything is now leading the perfect life." Aubrey smiles kindly at me. "I never would have guessed it."

I shift awkwardly in my seat. "I do not have the perfect life."

"You kinda do," Stacie says in amusement. "You have the cute baby, the adoring husband, the dream career, the amazing house in the suburbs…"

"Don't say it like that," I plead. "I sound like a complete stereotype."

"You  _are_  a stereotype," Amy says. "You're the perfect stereotype. That can only be a good thing."

I smile despite myself, thinking of my perfect life – because it is, and I won't deny it, not really. I have everything I never knew I wanted and I love every second it. It's stressful and I can't remember the last time I slept through the night, but that's okay, because I'm so incredibly lucky to have all I have. Not a day goes by that I'm not thankful for all that I have gained since walking onto that campus.

"So Donald, what about you?" I try to turn the attention away from myself. "How's the latest business venture going?"

"Great." He nods happily. "I'm in talks with investors at the moment. I think this one could really take off."

"I'm glad for you," Chloe smiles maternally. "You deserve to finally get things off the ground."

He grins back. "Just you wait. Soon my products are going to be everywhere."

"Beca," I hear over the baby monitor. "Where'd you put her Lala?"

I cringe at the name and the snickers around the table are quickly cut off when I send them a look. "It should be with her," I call loud enough for him to hear.

"No it" – There's a scuffling and then he speaks up again – "No worries, found it."

I hear a happy gurgling and exhale, turning my attention back to the last few bites of my dinner. My friends are watching me again, I can feel it, but I ignore them, instead directing a question towards Benji who sits quietly on my right side. "How are you doing?"

"Fine thanks." He smiles. "Oh hey! I never told you last week. Remember that kid, Daniel? He finally got to go home!"

I grin at him "That's great Benji. He finally went into remission?"

Benji works as a paediatric nurse, which is really the most perfect job for him in the world. He is so caring and so unfalteringly sweet. He adores his job, and he only lives a state over, so we see him pretty regularly. He's always gushing about the children on his ward, always so positive and adamant on their recovery. He had been telling us about Daniel for months, the poor seven year old that had been given 3 months to live after being diagnosed with an advanced form of leukaemia. No one had thought he would make it apart from Benji, and he had shocked all of his doctors by responding well to chemo.

"Yeah, it was great to see him get wheeled out. He made me a card to say thanks. He's a good little artist."

"I don't know how you stay so positive in that kind of place." Stacie shakes her head sadly. "It can't be easy seeing all that sickness."

Benji absorbs her words. "It's not fair, because they're so innocent, but they're also so determined. They don't let it stop them. They carry on being children and it's inspiring."

"Did someone say most beautiful and incredible girl ever?" Jesse calls as he rounds the corner into the room. In his arms, clinging to his side sleepily, is our year old daughter Mollie, who yawns and snuggles further into her daddy's side. When she sees the amount of people in the room, she hides her face in his shoulder, her dark hair tickling his neck.

Jesse sees my glare, because he knows I hate it when he wakes her up to show her off, and he forces a smile. "Because that would be, my lovely pretty and not at all angry wife?"

I roll my eyes at him and get up to take her from him, chuckling at how offended he looks when she reaches for me eagerly. Her brown eyes, a perfect replica of her father's, look up at me and she smiles at me. "Lala!" she squeals at me, one of the few words she has mastered much to my annoyance and Jesse's delight, and she shakes something at me. It's my old Bella's scarf, which has been recycled into Mollie's favourite thing in the entire world after Jesse used it to comfort her when I had to go out one evening, back when she was only two months old. She never goes anywhere with it, can't sleep without it, and it makes me love her even more.

Aubrey is beaming when she sees. "I told you she's a baby Bella!"

The rest of the girls dissolve into strange sounds as Mollie settles against my side and Jesse presses a kiss into my hair from behind me, one hand on my free hip. I pull an overly happy face at Mollie and she giggles, and Jesse and I laugh at her, unable to contain our joy at our gorgeous little girl. She's my miracle, and I can't get enough of her.

A camera flashes, and I tear my gaze away to glare at Chloe, holding the guilty camera in question, but continue to bounce my daughter on my hip. She smacks her lips together and rests a cheek on my shoulder, and Jesse and I walk back to our seats.

"I can't believe how adorable she is," Chloe gushes, as Jesse makes sure I'm settled in my seat, moving Mollie to my lap so she can look out at all the people who grin at her. She shrieks in delight when Benji begins pulling goofy faces at her, her little hands covering her face shyly.

"She is completely perfect." Jesse watches her with all the love in the world and I adjust my hold on my little girl so I grip her with one hand, reaching out and lacing my fingers together with his. Sometimes I hate how amazing he is.

"Not surprising," Amy says. "She's got some damn good genes."

I bounce my knee gently and Mollie continues to giggle at Benji making grabby hands at him. She takes hold of his finger and he shakes it, making her grin.

"I think now may just be the perfect time to begin my speech." Jesse stands up, grabbing his wine glass and eyeing me in mock disapproval when I groan loudly. "It's going to be a long one, so you guys better prepare yourselves."

The table comes alive with activity as wine bottles are eagerly passed around, and Jesse chuckles, calling them to order.

"Alright everyone, settle down!"

The crowd of people settle into their place, chuckling at my second groan when he pulls two sheets of paper out of his pocket. I Lean down to press a kiss against Mollie's hair, murmuring, "Your Daddy never knows when to shut up, does he?"

"I want to say, firstly, a big thank you for you all being here," Jesse begins, smiling in turn at each of our friends. "I know it must have been difficult for some of you to get here, but I'm really glad you all made the effort. It has been a lovely evening."

"Here here!" Cynthia Rose calls, raising her glass with a gentle smile.

"You've all been so supportive to me in my quest to get my new position as Head Composer at the studio." Mollie giggles in my lap and Jesse glances down at her, ruffling her soft hair lovingly. "But of course, I owe most of my gratitude to the woman beside me."

I feel a gentle blush working its way up my neck and I avoid his eyes. "Damn right you do."

"She's put up with me for thirteen years, and was almost completely supportive in my work towards getting my promotion. When she wasn't, in true Beca style, making stupid comments about it."

"Or having your baby," I interject as Mollie waves her Lala around. Jesse puts a hand on my shoulder and smiles at me, the smile that takes my breath away.

"Which makes me love you all the more." Jesse leans down to press a kiss against my forehead. "I really do love you, more and more every day. And I can't really believe how I got so lucky but I thank the universe every day for it."

I bury my nose in Mollie's hair, trying not to let the whole table see how his words affect me, and breathe in her sweet baby smell.

"So I would like to raise a glass to Beca, a great wife and an incredible mother." He raises his glass above his head and everyone copies, saying in chorus, "To Beca!" as Mollie gurgles, dribbling onto her teddy-bear print pyjama suit.

"Lala!" she says happily, and I kiss the crown of my daughter's head in encouragement. Looking up at Jesse who is beaming brightly down at me, I exhale peacefully. There's something so beautiful about being the perfect stereotype.


	5. Undeniable Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca hasn't been right all week... Jesse knows she has cracked.

"Beca what are you -"

"Hey, Jesse!" she slurs slowly. A ghost of a smile on her lips, she stumbles through his doorway, bumping into his shoulder as she enters the room. The stench of alcohol makes his nose tingle and he closes the door quietly, eyes trailing her as she hiccups and falls heavily onto his bed, bouncing lightly on the springs.

Beca hasn't been right all week. Jesse can seen it in her, the subtle shift behind her eyes. The lack of lustre for rehearsals, how her smiles seem less genuine. She has been blocking him out more, locked away in her dorm room more or, when she moulds herself to his side in his room, fails to engage properly in any banter, the speed and wit behind her quips faded. Something is wrong, really wrong, and as she giggles quietly to herself when a section of hair won't stay out of her eyeline, Jesse knows she has cracked.

"You're drunk," he observes without judgement, walking towards his desk and shutting his laptop. He won't be getting any more done this evening, and he's okay with that. Beca needs him more.

The half empty bottle of whiskey sloshes against its glass confinement as she shrugs. "No you're just blurry." She snorts with laughter at her own joke, folding over so her chest touches her thighs, and then she flicks her head back, holding her free hand and pinching her thumb and forefinger together. "Okay, maybe I'm a little tipsy."

He approaches her slowly, her eyes struggling to focus on him. The corners of her mouth turn up in a tight smile and she bounces out of her seat towards her, her ankle rolling a little as she stands close enough to feel his body heat. Her hands wrap around the back of his neck and he feels liquid drip down his neck from the bottle still clutched tight in her fist.

"Beca," he begins quietly, lifting a hand and gently prying the bottle from her grasp. She resists for only a moment, his hand slipping across her hip bone to press against the small of her back a distraction enough to get her grip to loosen.

She is still smiling, but there's no heart behind it, and its more a baring of teeth as he just stares at her with worry painting his brown eyes. Beca can see it, see how her pain is mirroring in him, and she drops her head, pressing her cheek against his collarbone. He's so gentle, so nurturing, and she wonders how he has lasted so long at her side without being cut by her jagged edges or sharp corners.

Or maybe he has been, but he just hides his pain better than her.

"You're so beautiful," she whispers into his skin, and she wonders if he understands. Beca means his soul - how he's so loving towards her, how he is enthusiastic and passionate and so very kind. She's seen it, how he lights up a room with his presence, how people can't help but smile when he talks to them, how he just so easily understands everything. She doesn't understand a lot of things, mainly how such a beautiful soul can love someone like her.

She's grateful, and her tight grip on him is both physical, mental, and emotional.

He presses a kiss into her hair as he sways, so gently she can barely feel it, and they dance without purpose or music for a few minutes. His neck is straining from the hold she has on his shoulders but he doesn't complain. He knows what is about to happen and he's fine waiting until it does.

"My granddad..." She can't finish the sentence but Jesse is nodding. He knows and he's here with her and he has a hand in her hair, his thumb rubbing circles into the base of her skull. It's comforting, having him there, and finally a tear slips out and stains dark on his green shirt.

Her stomach gargles and he feels how she reflexively curls in in herself.

"Jesse I'm going -"

But he's already lifting her, carrying her quickly across the room to the bathroom where he makes it just in time for her stomach to empty itself into his toilet. The hand in her hair had been convenient enough for him for twist it back into his fist while she gags pitifully over the bowl, and his other hand is soothing on her back, letting her know he's still very much beside her despite her being at her worst.

"Oh god this is what death feels like. I'm going to die," she groans, her clammy forehead pressed against her arm as she kneels over the toilet.

"No you aren't, you're going to be fine in an hour or two," he says easily, but the thought of feeling so rough for so long makes her groan again.

After a minute she realises he's no longer with her, and she twists her face on her forearm just enough to see him walking back towards her, a water bottle in his hand. He guides her weight back so she's sitting back in her calves and he holds the water bottle to her lips. He's so attentive. It's another thing she loves about him.

But the thought of it makes the tears come again, hot and fast, burning tracks into her cheeks. Her grandfather had meant the world to her. He had been there throughout her parents messy divorce. He had been there when she broke her first (and then the rest) bone and he had been there when her father set his ultimatum about college. He had been the only person in her family that she had any interest in meeting Jesse - and they had met, three times in total, and her grandfather had loved him, said he was a true keeper - and he had pretended nothing ness wrong for years before his first liver failure. She wonders if she should have seen it. But there was nothing wrong with the image of her grandfather with a drink in his hand - in fact, it would have been wrong without one.

She never even got to say goodbye.

Jesse knows Beca far too well. He knows that this rare display of heartbreak is not something she is comfortable with him seeing - or she won't be, when she sobers up and calms down - and he knows there is nothing he can say. Her grandfather is dead, her most favourite person in the world is gone, and no words will take that anguish away.

So to help ease one pain, the pain of losing such control, he collects her into his arms, her face buried in his neck and her legs slung over one arm, and he turns on the shower. Careful to keep her safe, keep her close, he steps in and lowers them to ground so she's sitting in between his legs. Her tears mix with the stream of water and it pounds down on them, but he feels her ease a little already, the slight shift in her muscles where they relax a little, and he strokes her hair with one hand, writes I love you into her hip bone with one hand, and says it into her ear.

Beca's sobs are guttural, heart wrenching, enough to make him emotional too at this pain he can't fix within her.

"I love you," he whispers over and over. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here."

And they sit like that for a while, Beca pretending the tears are nothing more than the shower, Jesse letting her pretend, and both of them holding onto each other; one in comfort, one in desperation.

Her mind is foggy as to what happened next; the next thing she knows she sees is Jesse's face, his eyes shut, his breath gentle on her cheek. His arms are around her waist and hers are curled under his biceps and up his back. They're in his bed, and he's cocooned her between the wall and his body, and she's too hot in the stifling space but she doesn't mind. There's something oddly comforting about it - or maybe that's just Jesse.

She wonders why she kept her grief to herself for so long when Jesse loves her enough to deal with it. She knew, of course, when she got the call from her mother. She knew Jesse would hold her and comfort her, but she was in a daze. She didn't want to believe her grandfather was gone, didn't want to accept it. Saying it aloud would make it true. Saying it aloud would mean she would have to feel the overwhelming pain.

But Jesse was her balm. He was like her comfort blanket, and though she feels like a small child when she tightens her grip on him, she doesn't care too much. Jesse doesn't care, that's for sure. He doesn't care if she's ridiculously vulnerable, emotionally unstable, unsure how to live in a world where her grandfather doesn't. He doesn't care that she needs him more than ever because he's happy to be that for him.

And when he squeezes her gently back, still fast asleep, she realises an undeniable truth.

Jesse is her rock now. Jesse is the one is there. He's the one who will be there, no matter what. Her grandfather had been present for everything in the beginning of her life, had clung onto life for so many years so he could with her, but he knew he wasn't needed anymore. It was sad to think, but she true. It was like he had been Jesse's proxy until the man himself could step in, sweep her up into his arms, and take her on this amazing adventure where she fell in love and learned how to let go and just live. Jesse had taught her to love the world and she's happy. Even though she's desperately sad, she's also happy. The pain she's in is worth it for a shot at life long happiness - a thing that until now, she never believed she might get.

"You okay?" he mutters sleepily, his lips grazing against her noses in a gentle 'good morning' kiss. He opens one eye lazily, surprised at how clear her eyes her, how they shine strangely when she looks up at him and presses a gentle kiss to his lips.

"Yeah, I'm okay," she answers on a breath, and its true. Because she knows, looking up at him now, that this is all she needs. These are the moments she lives for. And as long as Jesse is with her, holding her and loving her and just being Jesse, she has that life long happiness. And that thought doesn't scare one little bit.


	6. Such A Waste Of Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca dropping a wine bottle is definitely a strange catalyst for the ensuing argument (aka Jesse learns the non importance of which side of the bed he prefers)

Beca Mitchell has had a long day and is not in the mood for this bullshit.

"Are you serious right now? You think this is  _my_  fault?"

"You're the one who dropped the damn thing!"

"'Cause you scared the crap out of me!"

They're furious at each other, more angry than they've ever been at the other. They're spitting their retorts at each other, glaring from either side of the kitchen. He's vaguely aware that they should not be so aggravated by a smashed bottle of wine, and she wonders if maybe she should attend to the large gash in her foot that is oozing blood, blending into the dark red wine splattered across the tiles.

Her foot doesn't hurt, but her head does, because Jesse drives her completely crazy.

"All I did was walk into my own bloody kitchen!" He raises his arms and she'd consider cowering away at how much frustration there is in his voice (Jesse barely ever raises his voice, especially at her), if she wasn't stuck in one place, surrounded by shards of glasses, equally as pissed off.

"Well it's not like I'm used to you being  _around_ anymore, Jesse! You're never here so I'm used to being alone!" she throws back at him, and his nostrils flare when her voice breaks slightly. It's harsh to throw that at him, and she knows it's not the right thing to say. Being away so often isn't his fault, and they both know it, but her loneliness is manifesting as rage and she can't stop.

"Well that's all you've ever wanted isn't it? From the very beginning! You never wanted this, you just wanted your god damn music and for the world to leave you alone!"

"Yeah and I'd be living the fucking dream if you hadn't showed up and made me love you!"

He stops and he straightens back up, seeing something flash in her eyes. Beca's staring at him like he's… Pathetic, useless, a complete waste of space. Her lip is curled and her hands are in fists at her side. But the flash – he saw it, just for a second, the pain she's in, slipping past her walls for just a second. It was a second too long, because Jesse  _knows_ her, or at least he used to think he did, because now she looks ready to kill him with the jagged neck of the bottle lying by her feet.

"So let me get this straight." He exhales a shaky, tension filled breath, and she raises her chin in defiance, ready to take whatever he's going to throw at her. When he speaks again, his voice is dark and quiet, and she feels a shiver of terror run up her spin. "You're perfectly okay with the idea of being alone, your whole life. Despite the fact we fell in love. Despite the fact we're supposed to be making a life together in LA. Despite the fact that I'm here, and have been here for six years –"

"No, don't you say that." She's pointing at him, and he knows he isn't imagining the way her eyes shine with tears. "Because you haven't been here with me for months. You created your own life here. You got lost in your own little fantasy world with your stupid internship and parading round with that  _skank_  while I'm here, acting like some housewife who cooks for you, cleans for you, doing everything I can to make this easier for you when really, somehow, all I'm doing is  _losing_ you!"

Her words are like a slap to the face and he jolts like she actually has hit him. "Is that really what you think?"

She crosses her arms, her jaw set as she nods tersely. "Yes."

"Is that all you think this is?"

It's a challenge, and she knows the right answer – because they're so much more than that, have always been more than that – but her mouth seems to have a mind of its own. "Yes."

He grabs his jacket from the counter where he had put it not ten minutes before, and he shrugs casually. "Then I'm gone. You've lost me. I'm done."

And he turns and walks straight back out of the door, slamming it behind him, and she's left to pathetically squeak his name in surprise, trying not to think of the pool of blood and wine and broken glass at her feet as a giant metaphor for her heart.

* * *

Jesse doesn't really know why he's here.

It's 5:30am, according to the illuminated red numbers on the clock beside him, his only companion in this strange bed. He is supposed to be in  _his_  bed, he knows, and he also knows that Beca should be in his arms instead of the pillow from what is normally her side of the bed. He favours the left, and he remembers when they first moved in together two years ago, how she had mocked him for it.

"You can't be serious," she'd said with an amused smirk. "Has this always been a thing?"

"I guess." He'd shrugged, watching her as she stayed sat on the left side, her legs crossed and her hair loose around her face. "I just prefer it. The right side feels wrong."

"You're such a weirdo," she had said through a laugh, but when he had returned from the bathroom, she was curled up under the blankets on the right side and had turned into him when he climbed in beside her, wrapping an arm across his ribs.

"We live together," she'd commented casually into his chest. "How very grown up."

"Who'd have thought, I got Beca Mitchell to commit." He'd rubbed a hand down her arm, closing his eyes peacefully.

"Well, rents cheaper if you get to split it between two people," she'd retorted, pressing a kiss into his shoulder and snuggling closer. That night, they had both slept on the left side, tightly tucked together, and Jesse realised a few weeks later that the left side didn't matter so much as it used to. As long as he was at Beca's side, he didn't care too much where he slept.

The left side is awfully lonely now in Benij's spare room.

He sighs forlornly, swinging his legs out of bed and heading to the kitchen. He's spent the past three days convincing himself he doesn't need her - that he's fine alone and he can manage on his own. He doesn't miss her at all. Not the way she still refuses to admit that she cried at The Breakfast Club, or how she parts her lips just so when she puts on her mascara, or how she holds her tongue out of her teeth in concentration when she's at that last, oh-so-important moment that can make or break her mix. He doesn't miss how she tries to suppress her laughter when he tells a bad joke, or how she leaves little smiling faces on the mirror after she's showered for him to find, or her colourful array of language especially reserved for when her curling iron burns her.

Nope. He doesn't miss any of that. Not in the slightest.

The sound of the kettle appears to wake his friend, as Benji walks into the kitchen rubbing his eyes and falls heavily into a chair at the small table adjacent to Jesse. Without a word Jesse grabs Benij's favourite Star Wars mug, filling it with hot chocolate powder like his own, as he waits for the question he knows is going to be voiced any second.

"What's got you up?" Benji asks, and Jesse keeps his back to him to hide the pained expression.

"Nothing." The kettle clicks and he pours the boiling water into the mugs.

"You haven't slept more than an hour each night since you got here." Jesse hates how observant Benji is. "Are you ever going to tell me what went on with Beca?"

"Beca and I are over." He slams the kettle back into its plate a little harder than he should through his frustration, and he leans over the counter, breathing hard. "There's nothing else to say on the matter."

"You and Beca aren't over." Benji sounds so confident, so blasé about the whole thing. "You're fighting, that's normal. You'll be fine soon."

"Benji, we're not talking about this." Jesse's fingers dig into the hard counter enough to make his bones ache, but he doesn't loosen his hold. It keeps him in check, lets him maintain control.

"You spent six months fighting for that girl, and then three years fighting to keep her. Jesse, you got her to move in with you! You got her to see the true beauty of the world! You gave her everything, and she gave you all she had. You're not over because of one argument."

"You're wrong." Jesse finally turns, his eyes blazing. "Beca doesn't believe in us. She thinks we're some average unhappy couple. She thinks I don't pay enough attention and that I've cut her out of my life and that I'm cheating on her. She thinks I keep her around for the convenience. She thinks we're nothing and when I walked away she didn't stop me. She let me go."

Benji doesn't back down from his best friends hard stare; instead, he tilts his head thoughtfully, nodding. "You don't see it, do you?"

Jesse huffs. "See what?"

"You promised her LA would be perfect. You told her you'd both be together and happy. She thought that you'd be a couple like you were at Barden. She believed in what you told her because she believes in you." He pauses and Jesse frowns in confusion. "You guys moved here and got your internships and were happy. You were just as you'd promised. And then Sasha joined your programme. And you had to work together and that woman _obviously_  likes you –"

"Sasha is just a friend," Jesse interrupts. "A colleague. Beca knows that."

Benji just raises an eyebrow. "Does she? You said yourself she thinks you're cheating. Even I thought it for a while. You spend more time with the woman than you do your girlfriend."

"That's not true!"

"Beca doesn't have the internship anymore to keep her happy. She's unemployed and she's miserable, no matter how hard she tries to hide it. She spends her day in that tiny apartment of yours, mixing music and doing everything for herself. She spends her days like she used to live her life before you. Except now she knows what life is like with someone who loves her, and she's lonely."

Jesse swallows thickly, trying to keep his anger through Benji's reasoning, because his anger is all he has left of Beca right now.

"You're not around for so long, because you're still working and you're doing well. She needs you, but she won't admit it because she's Beca and that's not what she does. But I've seen it, when I'm at yours, how she lights up when you walk through the door. How she's so much happier when you're close by. Music doesn't make her as happy as you do. She needs you but you aren't there."

Jesse sighs, sinking into the other chair at the table and resting his forehead on his folded arms. "How can you be so sure, Benji?"

"Because I've spent six years watching you two together. I know you both well enough to know that this break up thing you got going on is stupid and that neither of you mean it."

Jesse knows it's true. He doesn't want to be without Beca; she's essential to his life and his happiness and he needs her like oxygen; he craves her like an addict to heroin; he loves her like… Like she loves him.

He's made a terrible mistake.

He doesn't know if he can fix it this time.

"What have I done?" he groans, and Benji pats his shoulder sympathetically.

"You need to talk to her, fix this before the damage is irreparable, make sure –"

There's a loud crashing sound at the front door, and they both jump out of their seats in surprise. The door can't be seen from the kitchen, and so they both walk hesitantly round into the living room. Jesse would find it comical, how Benji silently reached for one of his light sabers left by the doorway, if the situation wasn't so strange and slightly frightening.

"Jesse Swanson?" a loud voice fumes. "Where the hell are you?"

Benji drops the light saber and Jesse stops in his tracks, dumbfounded. "Beca?"

She appears suddenly in the living room door way and she looks horrific. It's raining out, and she's drenched, her hair matted and sticking to her face, her jeans tight against her skin, her boots squelching as she storms across the room towards him, throwing her spare keys to Benji's apartment at his chest. He bites down the yelp of pain at how vicious she is when they collide with him sharply.

"You think you can just walk away? You really think that's okay?" she seethes, her eyes cold and hard and full of such hot anger that it's a wonder Jesse's skin isn't blistering.

"What are you doing here?" he asks stupidly, frozen to the spot. Benji watches wide eyed.

"To make sure you know damn well how much you've pissed me off!" She's gritting her teeth and Jesse shrinks away slightly. "You are such an asshole! I can't believe you gave up! You really think that after all we've been through you can just  _leave_?! That's not how this works Jesse!"

"You evidently didn't want me there –" he starts but she interrupts, her eyes manic.

"You promised me forever Swanson, you promised you wouldn't let anything tear us apart." Her eyes are shining again, like they had in the kitchen, and he can see the effort she's putting into keeping control of herself. Her fists are so tight that her knuckles are white at her sides, and he can't think of a time he's ever seen her so angry. "Now I'm just supposed to forget you?"

"Beca –"

"No, Jesse, stop it. I don't want to hear your stupid voice telling me anything but one thing. You don't get to speak unless you say –"

"I want to come home." He nods as he says it, hoping she gets how serious he is, and she falters, her breathing heavy as she just stares for a moment. She's stunned, her thought process stuck because she hadn't expected him to cave so easily. She thought there'd be more of a fight, that she'd have to get mushy and sentimental, but she hadn't factored in a possibility of him changing his mind so quickly.

"I don't want to lose you," she whispers, a tear dripping down her already wet cheek. "Please don't walk away. Don't give up."

He steps closer to her, and hesitantly cups her cheek. He is encouraged when she doesn't move away, and his lips twist up slightly in a sad half smile. "How could I ever walk away from you? You mean everything to me."

She sniffs through her blocked nose. "You said you were done."

He shakes his head. "You're not getting rid of me that easy."

Beca yanks his t shirt and pulls him to her so harshly that when she leans up to kiss him their teeth clash. Her dripping hair is between his fingers and she's digging her nails into his side, her damp clothing soaking through his thin shirt. Her skin is cold but she feels so good, pressed against him with her mouth moving with his. He's missed her, achingly so, but he feels so much better now she's back.

"Can we go home please?" she asks desperately when they break apart, and he smiles at her. God does he love this woman.

"Only if you let me promise to be better." He leans his forehead against hers. "I can be better, Beca. I'll help out more and spend less time at work –"

She looks up at him tiredly. "Jesse, the only thing I can focus on right now is taking you back to bed and sleeping for the next two days, can you please make your promises after that?"

He chuckles and kisses her nose. "Absolutely."


	7. Intro To Beca Mitchell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse should definitely be studying, but Beca Mitchell is a far more interesting subject than anything his classes have set him.

The textbook falls shut with a resounding  _thump_.

Jesse can't seem to fathom the desire to finish this ridiculous English Literature essay that has been plaguing him for four days.

Sure, he reasons, Frankenstein was an okay read. He enjoyed the struggles in it, how things spiralled out of control, and he really enjoyed watching all the film adaptations. But that doesn't mean he wants to write a ten page essay on how Shelley depicts the shifting forces of good and evil throughout the text. No, he'd much rather write an essay on why the original movie adaptation is so much better than the modernised one. Or maybe not write one at all.

He can't stop thinking about his shift at the station that afternoon.

(Correction: He can't stop thinking about Beca.)

They had the day off yesterday, which meant two days worth of CDs to stack, and Jesse had been in a good mood. A long sleep and a catch up on his movie schedule meant he was smilier than usual, and it seemed the day off had even relaxed his fellow intern, who actually greeted him nicely when he rushed in four minutes late (something that was not missed by Luke, but in the six weeks he'd been working there, he had quickly learnt that the threats of being fired were empty).

"You know he hates you, right?" Beca said to him with an amused smirk after Luke stomped back into the booth.

"Hate is such a strong word," he sighed, looking over the track list of one of the CDs in his box. "I prefer intense dislike with a chance of murder."

The corner of her smirk twitched. "You encourage it by being late every day."

Jesse chuckled lightly as she walked to a shelf with four CDs in her hands. "That's not why he doesn't like me."

She glanced at him in surprise through the free standing shelves. "Oh?"

"I'm his competition."

"For what?" She walked back to the boxes where he still stood, leaning against the desk, watching her work while he twirled a case between his fingers.

"You don't know?" He was amused at her genuine lack of understanding. She quirked an eyebrow in question and he just sniggered, tilting his head down. "Never mind."

Beca eyed him strangely but shrugged it off, continuing with her work. Jesse slotted a few CDs into their rough place, trying not to watch her, trying to focus. (He failed.) But he couldn't stop looking at how she bent a leg up as she stretched to reach the higher shelves, how she had learnt not to have her hair loose so would tie it up - today in a high ponytail with sections hanging around her face that he wanted to wind around his fingers - or how he knew which songs playing from the radio she liked by how she either drummed her fingers against her thigh or exhaled heavily in resignation.

"Hey," she called to him a few minutes later, causing him to pretend to be surprised and that he hadn't just spent a good ninety seconds watching her replace CDs onto the shelves deliberately in the wrong place. "So how's your singing thing going?"

He tried not to find a serious victory in how she, for the first time, had made the effort to start a conversation with him. "You mean the Trebles?"

"Yeah whatever."

He looked around the room as if he was expecting hidden Bella's to jump tuft at him any moment. "Is this a tactic to find out about our plans for regionals? Did the Bella's set you up to this?" He gasped in fake shock. "Are you a secret spy?"

"You know, I think you might be the only person in the world who can take a simple question and be able to twist it into an infiltration plot." Her hand was in her hip and she looked completely unamused at him, but it just made him grin at her.

"Is it an attractive ability of mine?"

"Hardly."

His grin just grew at how she busied herself with grabbing another set of CDs from her box.

"The Trebles are fun. Acapella is pretty hard to get the hang of but, I don't know, I don't mind it that much." He shrugged and she glanced up at him.

"Are you admitting to not being perfect at something there Swanson?"

"Oh I will be perfect at it soon. Just you wait Miss Mitchell, I'm going to be sweeping you off your feet with my sweet vocals any day now."

She scoffed and he laughed. "Careful there, I think your ego might have just reached critical mass," she said dryly.

"Careful there, you might slip on all that sarcasm you got there."

"Wow, I see what you did there, how impressive of you. Really, bravo." She slow clapped for emphasise and she gritted her teeth when he just laughed her off, lounging back against the end of a shelf.

After she finished her applause and began to get back to work, he spoke again. "How are the Bella's?" She paused, tapping the case against her palm in a quick beat. "No nefarious plot, I promise."

She sucked her tongue against her teeth but decided to reply. "The Bella's are... Fine."

He dialled down the grin and realised she was actually almost talking to him about something in a serious, non sarcastic way that he had grown accustomed to since their initial meeting. "The blonde chick seems like she needs the stick being pulled out of her ass."

Her eyes sparkled in amusement but she held back the smile. "No, Aubrey is a bag full of sunshine."

He pushed off his perch and walked towards her at the table, jumping up on the table top while she skimmed over the track list of a few CDs. "That bad huh."

Beca looked up at him quickly beside her and he saw her bite the inside of her cheek, like she didn't want to speak out of term. "If this gets back to Bumper I swear to god -"

"This conversation does not leave this room." He held his little finger out towards her in promise but she didn't link it with hers, instead just eyeing it in judgement.

"She's a bitch," Beca blurted, and from the way she looked so amazed at her words, she obviously hadn't been able to talk to anyone about it before. "She's overly controlling and has a giant issue with me because I don't fit her stupid mould."

He scrunched up his nose in mild disgust. "Who wants to fit into some ridiculous mould."

"Aubrey, apparently." Beca sighed and dropped the case in her hand back into the box. She leaned against the desk beside him, her arms across her chest in annoyance. "The whole concept of acapella is ridiculous anyway." She glanced at him in her periphery. "No offence."

"None taken."

"I just don't get it, what's so great about it?"

"If you don't like it, why are you still doing it? Surely there's better ways to spend your time."

She huffed and he realised there might be more to the story than meets the eye. "Don't I know it."

But just as he was about to press the issue, Luke sent him away for lunch, and his chance was lost. By the time he returned, Beca was lost in her own little world with her headphones leaking heavy beats, yet he worked the rest of his shift with a small smile playing across his face. Beca had made the effort to talk to him, had confided in him. And as he decides to work on his Frankenstein essay later on, he can't help the thrill of excitement that runs through him. His persistence is finally paying off, and he thinks he might just have made some big progress in unpicking the riddle that is Beca Mitchell.

* * *

"Beca wait up!"

Her shoulders sag in a very obvious sigh of frustration, but she turns to face him as he shoves open the door to the building with his foot, swinging his back pack onto his shoulder as he does.

"What's up?" she asks as he catches her up. It's three days later and the due date of his essay, one that he still hasn't completed, and he has four hours until it has to be handed in with eight pages left to write. Safe to say his mind has been significantly distracted since the appearance of a certain brunette in his life.

"I thought that I might walk you home," he tries to say as casually as possible, "since we live only a building apart and all."

She raises an eyebrow. "How do you know where I live?"

"I've spent six weeks watching you walk ahead of me, I've seen you walking into the building almost every day." He smiles kindly at her. "I thought it might be a bit of a nicer walk if we had someone to walk with."

Her eyes narrow as she considers him, and for a moment, when she begins to walk, he thinks she's turned him down. "You coming, Swanson?"

He grins as he jogs to catch her up. "So how's the Aubrey thing working out?"

She rolls her eyes. "No difference."

"Still a bitch then?"

"Shush!" She slaps him lightly on the arm, looking around in an over eager panic. "You never know where one of her spies may be!"

He chuckles. "I'm sure they've already run off to inform her that a Bella is walking side by side with a Treble."

"Ooh, you're right." She pulls a face in faked disappointment. "Maybe you should walk two steps behind."

He pauses and falls behind, and they walk for a moment this way before she sighs and slows until they're next to each other again. "You're worked up over something," she observes wisely.

He flinches. Perhaps her quiet and wit make her more aware than he realises. "What makes you think that?"

She chews on her lip for a few seconds before replying cautiously. "You weren't as... Eager today. You're more quiet than normal."

He smirks at her. "Is Beca Mitchell worried about little old me?"

She grimaces. "You're an idiot."

Her arm brushes his.

"Are you going to tell me?"

He looks away and can see their journey together is nearly over. "I just have a lot to do."

Watching him closely, she frowns. "Well, I'm sure you'll be fine soon."

"Of course, I'm just a little distracted at all." His smile is tight and she doesn't fail to notice. But they're at her building and he has the perfect excuse to drop it. "So I'll see you tomorrow?"

"I actually have the day off tomorrow, got to have dinner with my dad." She fiddles with the strap of her bag nervously; this is the first time she's mentioned her dad, or anyone really, and again that sense of victory is making his fingers tingle.

"Oh, okay, well enjoy you're dinner and instead I will see you the day after."

"Definitely." She hesitates on the path leading up to her building, and when her fingers graze across his arm nervously he thinks he might just collapse at how hard it makes his heart pound. She avoids his intense gaze like she can hear it in his chest and he holds his breath. "Thanks for walking me."

Beca turns abruptly and is inside her building within seconds but he doesn't care. The place she touched him feels strange and he can't help the grin that breaks out across his face as he walks towards his dorm. Somehow, the simple touch makes him feel he can achieve anything, including completing his barely started essay due in four hours.

* * *

After two weeks of walking her home from the station, he ups his game to waiting outside her computing class (the only one he knows she actually attends regularly).

"You know, I think you're starting to stalk me," she says with a small smile as she reaches him, perched on a bench. Jumping up, he nudges her playfully with his elbow.

"You wish you were cool enough to have a stalker."

He swears he hears her laugh under her breath as they begin to slowly walk across some grass. "So what's the reason for this new walking thing?"

"Benji swears he heard someone using the rape whistle the other day by your rehearsal space," he lies - Benji did tell him this, but its not his reason and he's pretty sure she knows it - and is surprised when she groans loudly.

"That's Aubrey. She's taken to using it for cardio."

Jesse looks over at her in amusement. "Cardio?"

Beca grimaces. "Don't ask."

There's a comfortable pause and he shoves his hands into his pockets to keep from wishing he could reach out and hold her hand.

"You know its the middle of the day right?" she asks. "I don't think I'm going to be raped in front of all the students of this university in broad day light."

"You don't think," he emphasises, "so you think there's still a possibility."

"Not in the slightest. Besides, I'm a professor's daughter, who would dare touch me?"

He looks at her in surprise. "Your dad is a professor here?"

She looks just as surprised that he doesn't know. "Yeah, he teaches comparative literature. Didn't I tell you that?"

He shrugs. "You don't tell me much of anything."

Her lip is between her teeth and she purposefully looks away from him to the High Notes, lounging on the grass near by.

"Where are you headed?" he asks in a lame attempt to change the subject.

"My room."

"Do you not have class?"

"Uh, no." He can hear the lie but he just smiles in amusement, a look she returns.

"Have you eaten yet?"

She eyes him warily for a moment before admitting she hasn't, and he persuades her to let him buy her a sandwich from the on-campus cafe nearby. As they wait in line he asks about her class and what she's aiming to major in. As they walk and eat she tells him a story about how she got caught drinking on school grounds, and he counters with a tale of almost getting arrested when drugs were found in his locker thanks to his friend lending him the wrong sweater that morning. It's easy and he finds himself loving how she laughs, how it lights up her soulful grey-blue eyes, how she gets that slight dimple and her hair shakes around her face. She's at ease, more relaxed around him than she's probably ever been, and he thinks that might be why she invites him into her room (after he literally begs to see her record collection).

"Wow, Beca, this is incredible." He runs his fingers over the faded sleeves of one stack of records. "No wonder you applied for our internship."

She shrugs uneasily from just behind him. "I guess I like being surrounded by music everywhere I go."

He chuckles quietly. "You really do."

He's in awe of her side of the room, how it's a unique look into the person behind the hesitance she always has towards people, behind the sarcasm. He looks at each of the poster plastered to the walls, to the side of the wardrobe, and he admires the photo strips hanging from her shelves, pegged there carefully. The pictures are beautiful, artistic and cleverly done, and he smiles softly at them.

"Did you take these?"

"Um, yeah, sorry they're not that great -"

"No, Beca they're good. Really good."

She coughs self consciously. "So do you have anything to do? Class or rehearsal or something other than staring at my stuff?"

He tears his gaze away and shrugs nonchalantly. "Not really, maybe some studying but nothing major."

It's a giant lie, because he has yet another paper due in a few days that he once again hasn't even started, but she doesn't need to know that.

"Oh, okay." She shifts awkwardly. Obviously she isn't used to entertaining guests. "I should probably study too, actually..."

"Cool," he interrupts with a grin. He thinks he might have found a solution to his problem. "Maybe we could study together."

Lips pressed together, she looks doubtful. "Really?"

He shrugs again. "Why not? Come on, it'll be fun."

She seems to be contemplating it, and he prays she says yes. Maybe if he's actually with her, he can actually start focusing. If the girl that's distracting him is with him, he doesn't have to wonder what she's doing or how she is or when she's going to accept him as her friend.

Finally, in a comment that makes his heart soar, she relents. "Fine, but if you break anything I will resort to extreme measures of punishment."

* * *

Jesse is fully aware that his crush on this girl has reached dangerous levels of complexity.

They spend an increasingly large amount of time together, what with their station shifts and their walks home together from that and class (when he found her lounging on the grass outside his building for music theory three weeks after his first successful attempt at finding a reason to see her away from the station, he forgot how to breathe for a good ten seconds). He's familiar enough with her life at Barden now to have met Kimmy Jin - her rude annoying roommate - a good half dozen times at some time or another. Studying has become a thing they do weekly somehow, mostly on the grass outside their buildings, sitting together without talking. It's safe to say he actually gets very little done in these study sessions, as his idea that it might helps turns out to be completely bogus; he prefers to spend his time watching her pretend to work and actually just mess around with some kind of music program that he's learnt seems to be a really big deal to her, but that she's hesitant to mention to him.

Over winter break she texts him happy holidays and vaguely depicts to him a rather boring sounding Christmas - a holiday Jesse does not take lightly and that his family celebrate to the fullest extent - and he apologises profusely when they return to Barden after she admits to him that he drunk dialled her on New Years. Assured he said nothing completely horrific, he tries not to focus on that and more the fact she spent about 23 minutes of the first few hours of the year humouring his drunken self. Again, this is another great achievement for him, even if he can't really remember it properly.

He spends Valentine's with her at the station, making stupid jokes just so he can hear her laugh, a thing she does a lot more around him now. He knows its the best Valentine's of his life so far, despite there being no official acknowledgement of it.

And then he finds out she doesn't watch movies and he swears his heart drops to his stomach.

Because how can she  _not watch movies_?!

It's absurd, and he's not having any of it. No way is he letting that slide.

So he formulates a plan over the week of the riff-off, which he feels a little proud for at how she spent pretty much the whole night watching him and then, in determination to out do him, started rapping (which he thinks she wasn't even that bad at, though he teases her for it mercilessly for days after). He walked her home again when the groups finally parted ways and he found her waiting under a tree nearby so as not to raise suspicions from her overly ridiculous group leader. She's so comfortable around him now that he can feel himself beginning to hope that it might finally be coming to a time that she'll see they're so much more than just friends, that he _likes_  her and he's pretty sure she likes him too, but then the Breakfast Club Kiss Failure happens and suddenly he feels like he's back to square one.

Or maybe not, because there she is outside his last class of the day like she always is, scuffing the toe of her shoe awkwardly against the soft dirt of the grass.

"Beca, hey," he greets and immediately he wants to kick himself for how he says it. She looks up, almost like she's surprised he's actually in front of her, and her eyebrows are coming together slightly in concern.

"Hey." Her thumb twiddles around the other. Her next words come that rushed and all in one breath. "So I was wondering if you had some time to study now because rehearsals are really hectic right now what with regionals coming up and I think I'm falling a bit behind."

She's obviously anxious to get past the awkward moment of the night before, and he's honestly a little grateful that she's trying to glaze over it and act somewhat like it never happened. "Yeah I have some time. Usual spot?"

A smile flits across her face and she nods as they begin to walk, their pace a little faster than normal. "How was class?"

"Okay, bit boring, Dr Sanderson sure knows how to drone on." He adjusts his back pack. "Did you actually go to class today?"

She looks at him pointedly. "Of course."

"Good." He smiles at her genuinely and her eyes soften in what he could only depict as relief. "Oh! You want to grab some food first? I could kill for some fries right now."

She bites her lip gently and smiles around it. "I'd like that."

* * *

Jesse lets his head fall heavily onto his laptop.

Things had been going _so well_.

Regionals had finally arrived, and he'd been so excited, in no small part because he would get to see Beca perform again. She'd been good, even though the performance as a whole was pretty horrific and made him a little sleepy. He couldn't deny he was a little distracted by how she looked in that ridiculous outfit, and how she caught him smirking at her when she couldn't do the heart thing with her hands and she almost forgot her next step. Of course, once he had taken the stage, he'd been distracted again by the feel of her eyes in him, how she watched him intently, how her expression softened when he broke choreography to point at her cheekily.

Then Bumper just _had_  to get in another teams face.

The crazy member of which just  _had_  to go after him.

The crazy member of which Beca just _had_  to go and punch in some kind of heroic act to defend him (which really, he loved, because not many girls would sacrifice almost breaking their hand for a friend).

And then she got arrested and he made the big mistake of calling her dad.

He should have known really. She had only ever mentioned him in passing twice, and pointedly avoided any question Jesse asked about him since, so he supposes it should have more obvious to him to not call the one person she wanted there least. But what else was he supposed to do? He's a student, he can't afford to post bail for someone, not without some time to sell off his possessions or something. But she didn't seem to realise that when she yelled at him and then refused to speak to him the whole car journey back or the next day at the station.

And now he needs to write this ridiculous paper and all he can think about is how to fix things before she has time to dwell on it and make it into an even bigger deal.

He huffs loudly into the trackpad and thinks that maybe, if the essay were on exploring the reasons why girls were so damn complicated, he might do a little better. Or maybe why having feelings for someone was so stupidly complicated.

He already knows the first line for that one.

_Crushes are named as such because more often than not, the person you have feelings for ends up crushing your heart carelessly and making you feel very insignificant and very, very small._

* * *

That's it. No more thinking about Beca.

Beca Mitchell no longer exists. She no longer walks this earth.

Instead, Jesse shall focus solely on being a Treble and actually doing his homework on time and not pulling all nighters and cramming the day before to get it finished.

Yes Jesse is a new man.

A man who is no longer under the spell of those pretty blue eyes...

(Well that lasted all of ten seconds.)

About six weeks have passed with no walks home together, no study sessions, no table top chats in the station. Sure, he still sees her there, because no amount of rearranging their shifts can result in them never seeing the other at some point. They still share a shift on Fridays which he's so far managed to thankfully miss due to spring break and enforced rehearsals, but he knows he has to go to it in two days time and he's not excited any more about the thought of it, not jittery and wondering what stories he could tell her to make her laugh. No, now his shifts are spent alone and in a dull silence, or when the time comes, will probably be awkward and spent in an uncomfortable silence. He can't win either way. No matter what, his life seems a little more crappy than before.

He had become so quickly used to her presence in his life, so absorbed in everything abut her, that now she's gone he doesn't really know what to do with himself.

Apart from study, he definitely needs to start studying more.

She's miserable now. He can tell when he sees her walking between classes, how her shoulders hunch sadly. He can see it in her eyes when he bumps into her on the way out of his shift on a Monday when she starts hers right after. He can just generally feel it in the aura surrounding her, how she seems to have lost the spark she gained over her months here. For a girl who never much liked the Bella's, she sure seems a little lost without them.

He doesn't let himself hope that maybe he has at least the tiniest part in that sadness, that maybe he's had enough of an impact to make her miss him just a little.

He misses her so much it aches.

Even when she sat opposite him on the bus before semi finals and she spent the journey obviously avoiding his stare. He missed her especially then. If they were still on talking terms, they would have been playing ridiculous games in silence, her rolling her eyes and him raising an eyebrow suggestively.

But they aren't on speaking terms. They're no longer friends. She's made that abundantly clear.

He leans back in his chair in resignation and scrubs his face with his hands. When did he get so ridiculous?

He thinks maybe he's found the one downside to watching so many movies.

* * *

Studying is the last thing Jesse has on his mind right now.

Sure, it had started off that way. The books had been splayed out around him on the correct pages and he was tapping out a few words a minute on his laptop (better than normal so a definite good sign). He'd picked out the question and done a lot of the relevant research on the subject matter, and he was ready. He was sure of it.

But then Beca had waltzed into the room and somehow she's now straddling his lap, her mouth firm against his, and he can't find any legitimate reason to stop this amazing distraction.

"How's your paper coming?" she breathes against his lips between kisses that make him a little lightheaded.

"Great." He gasps as the hand trailing ever so slowly down his chest curls up around his shirt. She presses her ribs into his. "Almost done."

His hands are wrapped around her waist and they tighten when she moves away slightly. "Liar."

"Well it doesn't matter anyway because you're kneeling on it now anyway," he retorts in amusement. "Besides, studying without you is no fun."

She grins at him. "We already discussed this, Jesse. Our study sessions never stay just study sessions any more."

He pouts childishly. "That's because I have seven months worth of urges to jump you during studying to work through."

It's been five weeks since the finals, since her surprise and the first kiss, since the night they stayed up just talking about everything, both determined to fix the damage of their months spent in silence. It seema he has a bit of an issue keeping his hands to himself, and Beca doesn't exactly make much of an effort to curb his enthusiasm.

"Jesse, this paper is important, you need to get it -" she's cut off by his lips back on hers hungrily and she responds within milliseconds, her fingers threaded tightly into her hair. It's fair to say his crush is far more than an actual crush, that he has real, life-altering types of feelings developing for her, and he doesn't ever want to let her go. He feels at home with her, and although she is still the biggest distraction that has probably ever existed, he doesn't really care as long as it means she's with him.

Though maybe not, because an hour later he finds himself strangely focused. Yes, okay, it's a split focus - Beca is leaning her back against his ribs, sitting between his legs, skim reading one of his text books in one hand and running her fingernails over his knee with the other, and the whole thing is difficult to  _not_ focus on - but he's actually already written a good sizeable chunk with her help, his laptop resting on her thighs and his arms tucked under hers so he can type in relative ease. She's humming Simple Minds under her breath absently and the smile that lights up his face is one of genuine happiness.

If there's one thing he's learnt during his time at college, it's that Beca Mitchell may just be the most strangely incredible person on the planet.

He thinks that if he spends the rest of his life unable to stop thinking about her, well, he might just be okay with it.


	8. Need You Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things fall apart more quickly than she expected, and yet they find themselves drawn together even after the end, because they haven't learnt yet how to not need each other. (Based on Need You Bow - Lady Antebellum)

Beca's pretty sure this is the angriest she's ever been.

It's stupid, really, because effectively, the argument had stemmed out of the simple suggestion that he wash the dinner plates while she got on with work. She hadn't been mad then. She'd been calm and casual and really quite enjoying their take out – Chinese, her favourite – until the very moment he scrunched up his nose and said he'd rather not.

People involved in relationships often have negative views on their partners. Views they don't share. Views they keep to themselves because they're happy or scared or not really that bothered.

Beca shared hers.

Apparently, Jesse does not appreciate being told he's a "lazy asshole".

Their fight goes on for a good two hours, full of misdirected frustration and the build-up of a year and a half's worth of emotion that comes from uprooting their lives and moving into the same tiny apartment in sunny LA. He misses his family and Beca misses the solitary of her dorm and they both miss the stability of Barden that made their relationship easy.

Now she rushes home from work to make him dinner and when he arrives an hour later, he eats and then settles on the couch watching a movie while she cleans. She has always known that his cushy life in the suburbs had made him used to certain luxuries. What she hadn't known was that, once she let their dreams join together, she would have to cater to his every whim and become some kind of working housewife.

Beca is sick of it.

When the apartment falls silent and she is in the bedroom and he is in the living room with a slammed door separating them, she decides he's a giant pain in the backside and that if he wants to fix this, well, he'll have to make the first move because she's done doing everything for him.

There's a muffled conversation leaking through the gap under the door. She huffs loudly. He's put one of his stupid movies on.

For what will most likely not be the last time because it sure isn't the first, Beca resists the strong urge to throw his entire collection out of their fourth floor window.

A few stubbornly silenced hours later, her work is still sitting there waiting to be done and Beca is lying in bed, showered and in the only pyjamas she actually owns because more often than not she wears his shirts. She feels strange to not be surrounded by his smell while he surrounds her with his presence. Strange in a way that makes her eyes wet and cling to her pillow a little tighter.

She drifts off into some kind of restless sleep until she hears the distinct squeak of the bedroom door. She's not sure what the time is but she keeps perfectly still, her eyes open as she listens to him hesitate. She can see his shadow in the beam of light that falls on the wall, and then he's tip toeing across the bare floorboards. Sheets rustle and she fights to keep her breath even when the mattress dips. Something touches her shoulder but is gone just as quickly.

"Goodnight Beca," she hears him whisper by her ear, close enough to make her eyes flutter shut. She wonders if he knows she's awake. Probably.

But he makes no move to say anything else and soon the room is silent again. She is still mad; her back turned to him and his to her. But after an hour of lying awkwardly, her arms feeling oddly empty without him, she slides a hand across the no man's land between them, diving into enemy territory to lace her fingers with his. And when he presses his palm into hers a little harder, she knows they'll be okay again come sunrise.

* * *

It's funny, really, how everything had been so quickly reduced down to a handful of photographs and lot of movie ticket stubs.

Funny – not in a ha-ha kind of way, but in more of a how-can-this-emotional-wound-cause-actual-physical-pain kind of way.

Especially since it's been three months.

Three months is so very little in the grand scheme of things, when compared to the infinite amount of time surrounding everyone every day. But for her, three months feels endless as much as it feels hopeless. Three months is an awfully long time to her considering they had never spent more than a few weeks apart, at most, since they met.

It feels odd, missing him. Odd in a way that's different to how it felt to love him, because she did. She  _does_. Yes, she told him she didn't, but she had been angry and he had been too ready to give up and throw the towel in. Her yelling those stupid words had been all he needed, and that was fine. She can manage. She's been managing just fine so far. Three months had been handled in the best way she had been able to. Really, she's impressed. She had only spent one month drunk, rather than all three.

In times like this, she wishes she hadn't sworn herself off alcohol.

His face is grinning up at her from the cold floor, over and over, each photo representing a different happy memory. His smile is warm and cheeky and endearing in every one, because that's how he smiles when he has his arm around her. She's there too, her own former self leaning into him. She wants to go back in time to those times. She can imagine it, imagine him with her now, leaning over her and laughing and making some ridiculous comment.

She can imagine his fingerprints on each of the faded ticket stubs. She can picture his fingerprints on her, forever ingrained into her skin after five years of passionate grips and gentle caresses. She can see them just as clearly on her as she can see her tattoos.

There's a moment of panic in her gut as it occurs to her five years might not be enough. Maybe his fingerprints will fade away before she's ready to let them go.

_I need you._

The text is sent before it even hits her that what she's doing is bad; bad for her, bad for him, bad for everything she's worked so hard to create for three months. There's no way of taking it back, and she stares at the screen in frozen panic, the only real light in the room apart from the moonlight that pools through her window. She's surprised she remembers the number. It's mocking her, there on the screen, the last text he sent still saved despite her deleting his contact information.

_Italian or Chinese?_

It seems like a waste of a last text, because shouldn't it be something beautiful? In one of his stupid movies, it would have been something that caused an epiphany, something about how he loved her or how he couldn't live without her. Or maybe it would have been something cute about how she looked when she slept or that he had a romantic surprise for her when she got home. This wasted last text just confirms what she's been telling him all along.

Life is nothing like a movie.

Her phone never buzzes with his reply. Maybe he ignored it. Maybe he's busy. Maybe he's died. Maybe he just doesn't care enough.

Knocking.

Beca thinks she might actually be flying she's at the door so quickly. The handle hits the wall loudly as she finds him on the other side, a slightly pained expression on his face. Breath stuck in her throat, she stares for a moment and he stares right back.

"You came."

"You needed me."

"Yes."

Three words each. That's all they need before their bodies clash and their lips crash and they get lost in a beautiful oblivion.

* * *

He's not sure how he ends up quite so out of it, but he's pretty sure the thick pair of glasses leaning over him is to blame.

"Dude, you are so drunk," the glasses say as they laugh at him. He laughs a little hysterically back, leaning to one side from his spot on one of the tables. He's vaguely aware he's lying on his back and probably looks ridiculous, which just makes him laugh more. Ridiculous is a funny word.

"Dude I am so drunk," he chortles back to the spectacles. Spectacles. That's another funny word. He laughs harder.

He almost falls off the table and the hands of an angel save him.

Is she an angel? She looks like an angel. All blonde and dressed in white. Yeah. She's definitely an angel. He's excited. He's never met an angel before. Not a real one.

"Is he okay?" the angel says quietly to the glasses. It occurs to him there's a face attached to the glasses, and there's a body attached to that. Maybe he shouldn't have accepted that last dare to down five shots of whisky in very quick succession.

"Yeah, he'll be just fine once we find a way to get him home."

Donald. The talking glasses belong to Donald.

The angel is peering at him strangely and he reaches up to touch her cheek, because he's never  _touched_  an angel either, but she pulls a strange face and backs away a little. "How is he this drunk?"

"I'm not drunk," he protests despite his admission of this very same fact only a minute ago. "You're just blurry."

Through his alcohol faze he can just feel a strange sort of feeling in his chest.

The glasses – Donald – sighs from somewhere beside him and Jesse chuckles quietly to himself. Of course there's no such thing as talking glasses. That's ridiculous (which causes him to laugh louder). "I can't believe I let our designated driver get drunk."

The angel speaks again and Jesse searches for her with flailing hands. "We're going to have to get a cab, we've all had too much to drink."

"You're right. I'm sorry, Stella" – Jesse thinks Stella is a beautiful name for an angel – "I know this didn't exactly go as we wanted it to."

"How else did you expect this to go?" The angel sounds angry and so Jesse tries to suggest something to make her happy again.

"It's okay!" he says happily. "I have the  _perfect_  solution."

He reaches into his pocket and before Donald can snatch the phone out of his hand, he's hit the first speed dial and is holding it to his ear. At least he thinks he is. His face is too numb to tell properly.

"Jesse, no give me the phone, this is a stupid idea, Jesse –" Donald protests but there's a voice at his other ear and then he realises that maybe the real angel is inside his phone. Maybe this Stella girl isn't a real angel at all.

"Hello? Jesse?"

"Hey beautiful," he slurs happily. The fake angel groans and Jesse decides she doesn't like his amazing solution to their problems. Sucks to be her, he loves his amazing plan.

"Are you drunk?" He can hear the frown in his angels' voice. Because she is. His angel, he means. Maybe the fake angel is Donald's angel. He doesn't need a new angel. He has one. Had one. He frowns. His angel had flown away.

"I need you," he says earnestly, but suddenly the phone is gone and he's reaching feebly for Donald the Snatcher. Yes, that's definitely a good name for him. Donald the Snatcher with the talking glasses.

He doesn't know how much time has passed when he comes to, he just knows that it's a considerable amount, because suddenly he's lying in a bed not on a table, and there's sunlight where there was once spotlights, and he's pretty sure he's never been in so much pain in his life. His head is pounding and he wants to curl up under the sheets but there's something stopping him doing so.

"Look who's finally decided to join the rest of the world."

Jesse twists awkwardly in the tight cocoon of his sheets to see his ex-girlfriend sitting at the end of his bed like it's totally normal to be doing so after five months have passed since he walked away. She's not even looking at him; she's tapping away at his laptop keys, her eyes flickering over the screen. He groans, his muscles protesting, and he falls back onto his side, nose pressed into the pillows.

"Ow."

He can hear the smirk in her voice. "Yeah, I bet."

"I remember when you used to be comforting to my hangovers." His voice is muffled by the pillows but he can't find the energy to move.

"I seem to remember laughing at them all."

"Your laugh is comforting."

It slips out but he can't take it back so he lets it hang there between them.

"You know what else is comforting?" she says after a weird pause. The mattress moves beneath him and a hand appears in front of him. "Aspirin."

He swallows them dry because lifting his head to drink water – despite his horribly dry throat – is too much to bear, and he just listens for a few minutes to the tapping of keys from the end of his bed.

"We didn't…" he starts, uneasy, but she interrupts quickly.

"No, no." There's a beat of silence, like she's trying to decide whether to tell him something. "You called me from the bar."

"Sorry."

"That's not what you should apologise for."

It's loaded and he shifts uncomfortably despite his aching muscles. "Oh?"

"When I got there, Donald and I had to carry you to my car where you passed out. Donald helped me put you to bed, and then he went to his apartment upstairs with Stella. I was going to leave too, but you started…"

She sounds hesitant to go on but he already knows where this is going. "Oh God, I didn't, did I? Please, no."

"Yeah, you did." The smile is back in her voice. "You started calling out for your angel, and I quote "not Stella, because she belongs to the talking glasses. I want my angel." And you wouldn't stop until I came into the room."

"You didn't have to stay," he tries weakly, though he's glad she did.

"I know." Again the mattress shifts and suddenly she's in his eyeline, lying beside him so she's facing him. There's a space between them, and it feels weird to be on a bed with her without sharing it with her. Despite it being five months, he still wonders when the weirdness will go away. When his bed will stop feeling empty and start feeling like his own again.

"Thank you for staying anyway."

"I wanted to make sure you were okay." There's another pause. He wonders when they'll stop too. "I wanted to apologise."

"For what?"

"For that night, when I text you, two months ago." She's looking down at something. She never used to be nervous around him. It makes him feel sad before he realises that he should be discouraging this – lying in a bed, her staying with him to make sure he's okay after drinking too much. It's coupley stuff; friend stuff. It's not broken up for five months stuff.

He says "okay" because he doesn't know what else to say.

"I shouldn't have just left you there and gone to work. I realise now that it makes things worse. Because we should have talked about it but instead I left you there like some…"

"Stupid one night stand?" he tries, and she grimaces as she looks back up at him.

"I shouldn't have done that, because it might make you think I don't care." Her fingers hesitantly graze his cheek before falling in the space between them. "I don't want you to think you don't matter to me anymore."

"Okay," he says again. His headache isn't pounding as much anymore. He hopes he'll be able to start processing this strange confession soon.

"Because you do." Her fingers twitch and they skim over his shirt from the night before. "You do still matter. You always will."

"Okay."

It is apparently the wrong response, because she sighs heavily and rolls away, walking out of sight. He listens to her soft footsteps as they walk out of bedroom and he feels the body heat she left behind in the mattress when he moves a hand to her abandoned spot. Strange noises come from his living room, noises he can't place through his sleepy brain, and then her voice again, from his bedroom doorway.

"So I'm going to go." She sounds colder now, and he thinks back to last night when he thought she was his angel. He thinks of Donald's 'angel', his most recent girlfriend in a pretty long line, and how she had sounded when she was angry. He thinks of when he had thought his angel had flown away, but he thinks now that she hadn't. Instead, he had been the one to fly away.

He hates that he'd essentially lost his angel because of a toothbrush.

"Beca."

"Goodbye, Jesse."

"Beca."

But the door opens and closes and he's still lying there, trapped by his ridiculous hangover in the same position he woke up in, expect now there is no pounding headache to distract him from how alone he feels despite the five months apart. There is no angel at the end of his bed now.

* * *

It is strange, how death can affect people in different ways.

For Jesse, he feels numb for precisely 27 seconds before an overwhelming sadness washes over him. There's no anger or denial or any of those other steps you apparently go through first. No, he goes straight to depression, because, he supposes, that is what he is used to feeling.

Five months after the night of angels, seven months after the one night stand, and ten months after he walked away, Jesse picks up his phone and sends a three worded text to the number he still can't bear to delete.

 _I need you_.

There's a strange confidence in him that she will come, even though almost every other sign suggests otherwise. They haven't spoken since the night she stayed with him, and that hadn't exactly ended on amazing terms. He had also heard through the Bella/Treble grapevine she was seeing someone new (a rumour that makes his stomach feel funny in an unpleasant way) and there's the whole Jesse-walked-away-from-a-five-year-relationship-over-a-toothbrush thing. But somehow, despite all that, he is sure she will come anyway, as she does, arriving with a gentle knock half an hour later.

When he opens the door there's a crease between her eyebrows like she already knows – which isn't surprising, really, as Beca had always gotten on well with his mother – and her body slams into him as she hugs him around the ribs. He hasn't felt her touch for five months, hasn't seen her face for five months, and it's a bit of a sensory overload. He doesn't mind. She came, and that's all that matters.

Beca has always had this rule, and that is to never say you're sorry if you aren't truly sorry. It seems strange to him, but it expands far greater than that. She doesn't apologise when sad events happen to people, like how she didn't apologise to Benji when he lost his job a few years back, or when Amy's pet rat passed away last June. She doesn't believe in apologising for something she isn't directly to blame for, and he thinks that is why she stays silent for so long as they just stand there in his doorway, arms around each other. Maybe she just doesn't know what else there is to say.

They stay like that for some time, her arms around him and his around her waist, his cheek pressed against the top of her head. He doesn't cry or sigh sadly or do anything other than just hold her. He doesn't speak either. Somehow voices might break the magic of the extended moment.

Beca breaks the magic, as he expects she would, and pulls away to take in his neutral expression. "You needed me," she explains, like she has to justify her being here despite the fact he is the one who asked her.

"My uncle died."

"Yes."

"He was hit by a car."

"Yes."

"I needed you."

"I came."

The space between them feels far larger than it actually is.

"I don't know what I needed you for."

"That's okay." Her eyes are gentle, but not in a pitiful way. He appreciates it.

"Were you busy?" he asks politely, because the overwhelming sadness is rising in him again and he wants to not be so weak in front of her. He hates that she makes him so weak.

"No." The lie is written plainly across her face but he chooses not to comment. Instead, he takes the moment to just take her in. Her job at the record label means she dresses smarter now than she used to, and he likes how it makes her more grown up, more sophisticated. Her posture now is straighter, and her hair is shorter than the last time he saw her. He thinks it might be darker too, which is strange because she never used to like the thought of dying her hair. There's no black rim to her eyes anymore. That disappeared a year or two after college, when she started opting for a gentle brown smudging above her eyelashes, making them longer and her eyes bigger. He always loved her eyes. He still loves them sometimes, when he sleeps and he swears he remembers every detail.

He never does, not properly, because seeing her now he can see how his mind got it wrong; how it always gets it wrong.

It occurs to him how different she looks in this moment. How she does not look like the Beca he left. Maybe he had been suppressing these changes for her. Maybe she was glad he was gone now.

But that doesn't explain why she keeps coming back.

"Beca." He exhales her name because he likes the way it tastes in his mouth. She stiffens.

He loses himself in her eyes because she seems to be lost somewhere too as she stares at him.

He doesn't know who makes the first move, just that her lips feel great against his in that familial comforting way and that her mouth tastes a little like coffee and stale muffins. Her fingers feel fantastic against his skin and her body warmth feels so right pressed to him, his hands keeping her steady.

"Beca," he breathes again, but it's a silly move because voices tend to break the magic of the moment and she's already pulling away. The physical space is back, there to match the metaphorical.

"We can't…" She coughs anxiously. "You're upset. We can't do this."

He steps closer and pulls at the belt loop of her black jeans. "Please."

She looks pained and he hates that he's the one putting it there again. "Jesse…"

"I need you," he whispers, because it seems more appropriate than telling her the other thing dancing around his head.

For the moment's pause he thinks she's going to shake her head, and she finally does. Except she's suddenly there in his arms again, her mouth hard against his and her hands already working at the buttons of his shirt. He channels all of his sadness into her, letting her take it and twist it into something beautiful that he can better comprehend because somehow, everything is better once it's been graced with Beca's touch.

* * *

"We can't keep doing this," she whispers into his skin a few hours later when they're wrapped in his bed sheets ad he's on the brink of consciousness. The words tickle across his skin and he wants nothing more than pretend she didn't say them. He wants to pretend they're happy and perfect and that a toothbrush hasn't caused ten months of pain for them.

"I know," he says instead. Her hand is flat against his ribs, her nose grazing his neck. His arm is underneath her weight and the other plays with her free hand, their fingers slowly dancing to lace together, over and over, in a hundred different strange ways before starting over from the top.

"It's not good, for either of us."

They're like drug addicts, fuelled by each other and the pain of it all. It's unhealthy, grossly so, but he's tired and doesn't to waste time overthinking this all.

"I'm seeing someone," she admits on a breath, and his chest tightens but he keeps his other muscles relaxed. He doesn't want to admit that he already knew this. Admitting it means he basically coerced his ex-girlfriend into giving him pity sex and being unfaithful. He doesn't want to admit that to her. He doesn't want her to think of him as a bad guy.

"Oh."

"His name is Graham and… He's a good guy, Jesse. I like him. He's sweet."

Like is not love, and sweet is not really Beca's type, and what kind of name is Graham? Graham and Beca. It sounds gross. It's two puzzle pieces that don't fit.

"Okay."

"We can't keep doing this," she repeats, but it's quieter, like she's trying to convince herself more than him.

"Okay."

Their fingers stop dancing and settle against his chest. "Jesse?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop saying okay."

"Okay."

"Stop agreeing with me."

He presses his lips together because he can feel the metaphorical space between them coming back. "Okay."

Beca presses her face into his neck harder in frustration because all she really wants him to do is fight for her.

* * *

Jesse realises on his third date with Chantelle why she annoys him so much.

She's lovely really. She has a heart shaped face and her hair is dyed to this strange but attractive purple hue. Her green eyes contrast pleasantly and they're kind, a true window into her soul that seems to be constantly happy, constantly sparkling. She's taller than most girls and has a girly dress sense that means she always wears a pretty dress for their nights out. She's gentle and doesn't push for them to sleep together right away but she's a good kisser and six years ago, she would have been his idea of perfect.

But that's his problem. He now just finds her all round nice-ness down right frustrating.

Jesse likes sarcasm. He likes wit and humour and a sharp tongue that's ready to challenge him at a moment's notice. He likes passion and drive and brunettes. He likes the feeling of going too fast and too slow all at once. He even likes the idea of an uncertain future. He likes the thrill, the infuriation, the dizzying roller-coaster of everything and nothing all at the same time. He likes plaid shirts and well-loved jeans and studded accessories and scary ear spikes.

He likes  _Beca_.

He  _loves_  Beca.

That's just where he is now, a year after their toothbrush break up. She has him so tightly wound around her finger that everything within him is about Beca. Even his heart beat says her name.  _Be-ca, Be-ca, Be-ca._

He hates himself and that stupid heartbeat.

* * *

 

"Beca, you have some serious explaining to do!"

She does not turn to face Stacie as her friend approaches her from behind. She keeps her eyes trained on the interaction at the other end of the busy bar at the even busier club. It's ridiculous, she knows, to watch her ex-boyfriend flirt with this overly-smiley blonde girl who had approached him ten minutes ago. Heart aching, she continues to torture herself because she can't seem to stop.

"Beca, you're staring, it's creepy." Stacie waves a hand in front of her face and Beca finally tears away her gaze. Stacie is standing in front of her, leaning against the bar, her eyebrows furrowed with worry. Flashing a weak smile, Beca lets the rest of her drink sting the back of her throat. She has long since forgotten her oath against drinking; Beca has never been that good at sticking to them.

"I'm fine," she answers an unasked question. Stacie sighs.

"It's been 18 months!" she says over the loud music. "You need to get over him or get under him!"

Beca grimaces. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Jesse! You're still gaga over him!"

"We've been over for a long time; I'm past all of that." Beca waves a hand dismissively but in her head, she's screaming blue murder against the blonde who is running her hand up Jesse's arm. Her hand clenches into a fist.

"You've always been a horrific liar," her friend says sadly. Stacie puts her hand over Beca's fist and smiles sympathetically. "This is my birthday celebration, Becs, and you're sitting here with a sour face when all of our friends are out on the dance floor! Come on, just get out of your own head for one night and  _enjoy_ yourself."

With a tight smile, Beca takes one last lingering look across the room. The blonde is whispering into his ear, and he's grinning that smile he used to reserve just for her. His hand is on her waist, the other one lying casually on the bar. He raises his fingers to request a drink, and she turns away when he orders one. She thinks he might have seen her looking, but she doesn't look back to check. Instead, she lets Stacie drag her away towards her other friends. She isn't in the mood to party, but anything is better than the sight she leaves behind.

* * *

Her newest guy is some douchebag called Jason.

He doesn't plan on bumping into her so often – because really, it happens on a regular occurrence – but he supposes he shouldn't be surprised. Even in a city as big as this one, it's bound to happen sometimes. They're in the grocery store, and he spots her when he's picking out the vegetables for dinner. The guy is tall, with dark hair and beady eyes and skinny jeans. His arm is flung around Beca's shoulders and she's laughing at something he says.

He doesn't even have time to panic over how to escape unnoticed when her eyes find him.

She looks genuinely surprised, enough to make her falter in her slow walk, and Jason (who he'd heard a few things about through the grapevine) follows her eye line to him. Her basket clatters to the floor and it's enough to shake her out of it. Quickly picking her half-empty basket up, she walks over to him. Jason follows, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he takes Jesse in. Jesse wonders if this new guy knows who he is.

"Beca! Wow, this is a surprise," he manages to get out when she's close enough. There's an awkward pause where both of them seem to hesitate on the edge of whether to hug or not, but they end up staying in their respective spots.

"Jesse, hey." She smiles at him. The new guy throws his arm back around her. It moves her shirt and he only just manages to suppress the flinch at the love bite on her shoulder. "This is Jason," she awkwardly introduces.

"Hey." Jesse shakes his hand and doesn't miss the way the guy tightens his grip.

"Sup."

His hatred for him doubles instantly.

"We were just buying supplies," she explains, evidently trying to fill the silence. He glances down at the basket. Liquorice and popcorn and chocolate. He feels queasy. Those were her favourite movie snacks.

"I see."

It seems to dawn on her that he'd recognise what the contents of her basket equals, and she coughs nervously. "So how are you?"

"Good, yeah."

"I heard about your promotion a few months back. Congratulations."

"Thanks." There's a pregnant pause. "How are you?"

"Great, thanks. Had a lot of work recently so that's been good."

He wants to run away the conversation is so awkward. "I'm glad it's all worked out for you."

She seems to sense that his reply is loaded with unsaid things, and her blue eyes are full of concern. "Jason, could you go pay for these?" she asks without looking from him.

"I guess." The new guy takes the basket and walks away with a suspicious look back over his shoulder. Beca keeps the distance between them friendly, but she leans a little closer.

"You were glaring," she says softly. Jesse straightens up slightly.

"He doesn't really seem your type," Jesse shoots back defensively, but Beca doesn't look that happy with it.

"What, because he's not you?" she retorts, and it stings, but she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry, that was harsh."

"He's not good enough for you."

"He's a good guy," she defends.

"That doesn't make him good enough."

She sighs and pinches her fingers on her nose. "Jesse, please, I don't want us to be this way."

"What way?"

"Awkward, defensive." She tilts her head and he leans back against the barrier of the aisle. "It's been what, over two years now? We need to get past this."

He feels himself soften. Beca offering the peace treaty is strange to him, because he's so used to her stubbornness. Perhaps she's changed a lot since he walked out on her. Maybe she's that much better off without him.

So Jesse bites his tongue and forces a smile onto her face. "You really like this guy?"

She nods sincerely.

"Okay then." He nods and lets his shoulders relax. "No more awkwardness."

"No more awkwardness." She smiles and he thinks of the last time she smiled at him that way. Almost a year and a half ago, when his uncle had died, perhaps. He thinks of the last time she touched him, that night so long ago. He thinks of when he woke up that morning to find her gone.

"I should go," she says with a nod towards the cash registers. "But I'll see you soon."

He nods with a small smile. "Okay."

"Bye Jesse." She touches his elbow for a moment and then turns to walk away. He watches her head up the aisle, sees Jason wave her down and how she picks up her speed to rejoin him at his side. He sighs heavily.

"Goodbye, Beca."

* * *

She thinks she might be violently sick at any moment. As in Aubrey worthy, projectile vomiting; catastrophic, day ruining with the threat of hospitalisation, ridiculously sick.

The dress is uncomfortable. It's scratchy and overly fancy and too tight. It constricts her lungs and she struggles to catch her breath properly. She doesn't want to be here. She doesn't even know  _why_ she's here. She'd been telling herself ever since that invitation landed on her doorstep she wasn't going, and yet somehow, here she is.

The invitation. She remembers how her heart had dropped to her stomach when she saw it amongst her bills. How her hands had trembled when she reached for it, how she had spent forever trying to open it because her fingers were shaking so badly. She remembers how she had fallen against the wall to the floor when she saw the words inside, how she had felt the strange sensation of someone reaching into her chest, gripping her heart, and squeezing as hard as they could. She feels a little like that now.

Music starts to play, and it might be the only time she's ever hated a song so passionately because of what it represents.

The two hundred and fifty strong crowd collectively turn, but Beca can't bear it. Instead, she lets her eyes fall on the front, far away from her seat in the back row, a seat she had chosen for the specific purpose of being able to bail undetected when the agony of watching her first love marry another woman becomes too much to bear.

Jesse's there, fidgeting in his excitement with the cuffs of his shirt under his fancy suit jacket. He looks incredible, so achingly beautiful that it takes her breath away. He's trying not to look, trying to keep it a surprise, but the tearful murmurings of the crowd are making him desperate, she can see. Benji is beside him, the dashing best man, and he's whispering in his ear. Jesse grins and she hears his mother let out a sob from the front of the church.

She's in her eyeline now, her ex-boyfriend's wife-to-be. Beca takes in her back, the only part she can see now she has passed by. This Annabeth, the blonde from the bar two years ago who managed to capture his heart. Beca hates to admit it, but she looks stunning, her short hair pinned back subtly, a thin train blending into her elegant white satin dress. It clings to her, trailing behind her for about a foot. Beca half wishes she could run out and stand on it, letting the girl fall back and hopefully get at least a little injured. Maybe just enough blood to stain her dress.

The guilt for her sick and twisted thoughts makes her feel even worse, and she clings to edge of her aisle to try and keep herself standing.

After an agonizingly long walk, Annabeth makes it to the alter and Jesse looks on the brink of tears as he takes her in and accepts the hand her father offers him. People begin to sit down and Beca gratefully falls into her seat. Benji turns around and for a moment, his eyes linger on her. He's always been so perceptive, and she's not surprised when he quirks an eyebrow, a silent question. She does her best to smile, to assure him she's okay, but it doesn't come out right and Benji frowns before turning back to fact the front, leaning over to whisper to Donald beside him.

"We are gathered here today to witness the joining of these two people in holy matrimony," the priest begins, and Beca leans back into the back rest. She plays with the hem of her black dress to keep her shaking hands occupied. The older woman beside her eyes her in confusion.

She bites her lip as the priest continues to speak to the family and friends of the couple and she closes her eyes. She can't stand all the smiles, all the whispers of how beautiful the bride is, all the dabbing at eyes and all the stupid flowers that seem to everywhere, suffocating her with their smell and all they represent.

"If there is any reason why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Beca clenches the bench in front so tightly she thinks it might actually break her fingers. A part of her wants to stand up. Wants to run down the aisle and tell Jesse this is all one giant mistake, that she wants to be with him and that this blonde girl is so horrifically wrong for him. Annabeth is not Beca. All he has to do is say the word and she'll run away with him. She'll run anywhere with him.

But then Beca opens her eyes, and in the pause that seems to have gone on forever but is probably barely even a second, she sees him. He's staring at her, his wife to be, unable to look away for even a second, and she can see the happiness there. Jesse loves this girl and no matter how much Beca hates it, she won't stand in the way of his happy ending.

So she stays seated, and instead watches the man she still loves after all these years promise to spend the rest of his life with the wrong girl.

* * *

Beca opens her eyes very suddenly, not really sure where she is.

For a moment, the dark room is unfamiliar to her. She doesn't recognise the white peeling walls or the unpolished floorboards or the pile of women's clothing. But as her fuzzy brain begins to work again, she notices that the laundry is made up of her clothes, and that it is her forgotten mug on the bedside table, and her laptop is tucked partly under the bed.

This is not just her bed.

Beca then becomes acutely aware of the odd angle her arm is lying at, and that something is moving gently between her shoulder blades.

She wants to tell him off and kiss him and ask what the hell he thinks he's doing all at once, but that means giving in and she's too angry, too stubborn, to speak first.

However, she can't resist at least just  _seeing_ him, just to know what he's feeling, so she rolls over and there he is, his face surprisingly close.

She can't help it when his name slips out from between the lips.

He's just so  _close_.

"Hey," he says on a breath. She finds it oddly satisfying that he looks so nervous. His fingers are now lying on the mattress uselessly. She wants to press kisses to each one, to move it so his hand lies over her heart, or maybe press it to her hip so he can pull her even nearer.

But she doesn't. Instead she just says, "Hey."

He smiles weakly but it doesn't reach his eyes. "You're right, and I'm sorry. I don't want to fight anymore, I don't want to watch you sleep with your back to me. I want us to be okay again."

She grasps his hand in hers, because Jesse makes her weak in a way she really shouldn't like. "Me too."

"I'll do better, I promise. I don't mean to be a lazy asshole, and I didn't know how unhappy it was making you." He shifts closer, his knee knocking hers.

"You don't make me unhappy," she whispers earnestly. "Quite the opposite, actually."

Even in the dim light she can see a smile take over his face, which only grows when she cups his jaw gently. "I love you."

She leans forward until their lips meet softly. "I know."

"Do you still love me too?"

Her eyes are closed but she can feel his gaze. It makes her smile. "Maybe. If you do the washing up."

There's a smirk to his voice when he speaks. "I already did it."

"Fine. If you clean the bathroom."

"Consider it already on my to do list."

"And make me breakfast in the morning." She opens one eye to see his partly amused expression.

"Don't push it."

"I want the whole shebang. Toast and bacon and eggs and –"

He cuts her off with a chaste kiss, which she refuses to accept alone so she pulls him in closer. Her lips linger against his and her fingers are somehow tangled in his hair, his hand pulling on her waist.

"You've made me such a sap Miss Mitchell, you know that? I couldn't even last one night not being with you." His mouth quirks upwards and she kisses it gently.

"I didn't make you a sap; I got you this way." She touches his nose and chuckles when he scrunches it up as it tickles him. "I was going to return you but…"

"I was too hot and amazing and talented?"

"No." But she laughs, because he is, not that she'd willingly tell him that despite their five years together. "I lost my receipt."

His forehead presses against her and his lips are soft on hers. "I must be a very lucky man."

She blushes and she's glad they're cloaked in darkness. "Jesse…"

"I know that things are more difficult now," he begins anxiously. She shifts, because so rarely is he so serious, and she's found it's always good to listen when he's like this. "Being away from Barden has been a big adjustment, and even though we've been here, what, two years? We're still adjusting and that's okay. It's… I know that it's tough sometimes. I know that I drive you crazy a lot and that I can be a complete pain to be around at times. But you always stay here. With me. And I'm really, really thankful for that."

She smiles weakly, emotions tangling together in her throat. "Jesse, you must know by now." She pauses for a moment and sighs at how stupid this, how she still seems to find it so difficult to say something that's in any way vulnerably honest. "There's no where else I want to be."

He kisses her hard, a wordless thank you for letting herself say that to him, and she clings to him, her body pressed to his. The no-mans land between them is gone. Instead she just lets her body take over, and suddenly their hands are everywhere and her pyjama bottoms are gone somehow after he turns his nose up at the offending clothing choice. She knows he likes her best in  _his_ clothes.

"Let's never fight again," she pleads as his lips trail across her collarbone.

"No more fighting," he promises in a distracted murmur against her skin. She shivers deliciously.

"I just, y-you were right," she gets out between pants. "What you said…"

She can't remember what he said because his fingers are touching some extremely inappropriate places considering the serious nature of what she's trying to say. His smile against her sternum makes her want to curse at him, and the words are on the tip of her tongue when suddenly he's completely derailing her thoughts again and the only thing she seems to be able to get out is his name.

* * *

They fight again only a week later.

"You are being so out of line!" she yells at him. "I cannot believe what you are actually  _saying_ to me right now!"

"Oh, perfect, here you go!" he throws his hands up in the air. "Making it all about you again!"

She gapes at him and then her lip curls. "You aren't seriously claiming I'm self involved!" The mug she didn't know she'd grabbed from the coffee table smashes against the wall behind him. "We literally had this argument a week ago about how I do  _everything_  for you!"

"Oh get over yourself Beca!" He groans loudly and turns away from her, pushing the heel of his hands into his eyes. "Why are you this frustrating!"

Another smash by his ear. Her voice is low and cold when she shouts her reply. "If I'm so  _frustrating_  then why the hell are you still here?!"

"You know what." He laughs humourlessly. "That's a damn good question."

"Wh –"

Her squeak of surprise is cut off by the bedroom door slamming, and he seethes quietly as he angrily stuffs random clothes into a bag. She's being ridiculous, as she always is, and Jesse is at his wits end. He's fed up of her constant nagging and coming second to her laptop. He's tired of her cold shoulder and her complaints about his movies and her pestering over helping around their apartment. He is sick of all of it.

He texts Benji to let him know he needs a place to crash, and after he's thrown a random array of items into his bag, he storms out of the bedroom and crosses over to the living room to the bathroom. She's still standing where he left her, he thinks, though it's hard to tell when she's such a blur in his periphery. He doesn't want to look at her. If he looks at her she'll suck him back in and ruin his faith in his decision.

Apparently though, that is not the only thing that can ruin it.

The toothbrush in his hand can ruin it too.

His mind jumps back a week, to the night he fell asleep to the sight of her back, to the night he dreamt for the first time of a life spent without her. He thinks of the drunken phone call, how she had been his angel. He thinks about how she had been there when his uncle was apparently hit by a car. He thinks about how he tried dating but it just didn't seem to work.

Beca's right. He is an idiot.

Jesse walks slowly out of the bathroom with the toothbrush in his hand, and his destroyed resolve only melts further when he sees her watching him, tear tracks on her face that make his heart clench unpleasantly. Her eyes are wide, shining with unshed tears and a shaky disposition. He wonders why he thought he could so easily leave her.

"I had a dream last week," he forces out in a strange strangled tone. "I had a dream that we broke up over a toothbrush."

Her chin juts up like she's trying to be strong, but a new tear stain joins the others on her cheek.

"I had a nightmare that I had to live without you." She's still not speaking and he doesn't have the courage to walk up to her and take whatever anger she has to throw at him. "I couldn't do it, even in my dream. I kept needing you too much."

Her arms cross over her chest.

"Last week I told you about how I knew our life here was tough. In my dream, life was so much more difficult without you being with me." Another pause. "This week I'm telling you that I'd rather have a frustrating life with you than an impossible one without."

The words take their time to sink in, but she eventually speaks up. "I watched you marry another woman," she whispers in a way that makes his heart break all over again. "That was my nightmare. Last week I dreamt of you disappearing and marrying another woman."

He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know what to do but stare at her as she starts to shake in the chill of their apartment.

"Did I keep coming back?" she asks then. "When you kept needing me, did I come back?"

"Yes."

She swallows thickly. "Then you can go if you want."

He frowns; does she still want him to leave? "Why?"

"Because I know you'll come back too."

Jesse walks on numb feet across the distance between them. She crumbles quickly into his arms, latching onto him desperately, and he strokes her hair as she snivels into his neck. Finding solace in the way she fits so perfectly against him, he lets his eyes close and better absorb the feel of her skin on his.

"I'll never come back," he tells her when she finally pulls back to look at him, "Because I don't intend on ever leaving."

"Good," she says, snuggling back in, "Because that Annabeth really wasn't your type."

He smiles into her hair. "Oh really?"

"Definitely. She was all blonde and tall and pretty and kind, with this great smile and nice eyes -"

"She sounds great, can I have her number?"

She slaps his chest and he chuckles. "I'm serious Jesse, I was really cut up about it!"

Hands on her arms, he pulls her back to look at her tear stained face. He hates that he put that pain there. "Quite frankly I think she sounds kind of dull."

A smile flashes across her face. "Well you did pick her up in bar..."

His lips are soft against hers and when he looks at her again, her eyes stayed closed for a moment. "Besides, haven't you figured out already that I prefer brunettes?"

As expected, she rolls her eyes. "You're such a dork."

He kisses her again and hums happily against her lips. "Yeah but I'm your dork."

"You're doing it again," she murmurs back, "Talking when there are plenty more fun, important things you could be doing. With me.  _To_  me."

His eyes sparkle with mischief and within seconds he's used the leverage from holding her arms to throw her over his shoulder with a less than Beca-like squeal of surprise. He carries her to the bedroom with a grunt of "Me Jesse, you Beca, me sex you now," much to her horror and disbelief, but her scolding doesn't last for long before he's soon blowing raspberries on her collar bone and making her gasp through her laughter. Yes, he is definitely her dork. She wouldn't have him any other way.

 


	9. All Roads Lead Me Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse knows he's messed up in a big way, but Beca's wrath scares him and he thinks he might have pushed her too far this time.

_I have no idea how I even got here._

It's the thought that keeps rotating around his mind as he sits inside his car, clutching his phone and staring at the familiar red door. The engine has been off for quite some time so the heat is gone, the chill from the wind outside sending shivers through his arms. He doesn't actually recall the specific details of how he got here from the bar stool he'd occupied for most of the evening. He hadn't been in the mood to put on a smiling face for Donald's birthday, and for a moment he thinks it might be alcohol that is affecting his memory. No, he hadn't even been drinking. Not that much, anyway - barely even one beer.

Of course his repeating thought has a double meaning; he doesn't know how he got here, to being on the wrong side of the door, to being back in this stupid position where his happy ending was so close he could almost touch it… To then just screw it all up again.

He sighs heavily, staring at the porch light that glows against that ridiculous red door. It had been her only condition when they decided to buy a house with her inheritance and his savings.  _The front door has to be painted red_ , she had insisted. He still doesn't know why. He doesn't think she does either.

She knows he's there, of course. The light had flickered on a few minutes ago – a sign that she would at least let him approach the house – but he has yet to work up the courage to open the car door, climb out, and walk up the tiny little porch of the tiny little house. He just can't seem to stop staring, because this position is too familiar for him to be in any way healthy.

He thinks instead of their beginning.

* * *

"Bye, mom!" he said impatiently – lacking the sensitivity he should probably have had - as she walked tearfully away, his father's arm around her. He watched them go for just a moment before diving back through the doorway, ignoring all his unpacked bags and everything he had left to do and instead grabbing his jacket. Jesse was late, and he was a little desperate, so he sprinted down the corridors and out of the building. An hour had passed since their arranged meeting time. He was pretty sure he was basically running to his own death.

He stumbled slightly as he hopped over the upturned trolley of a freshman, catching his balance quickly to carry on rushing across the campus. He could see it, just there in the distance, the large grassy area they had frequented so much last year. Slowing down, he let himself catch his breath slightly, because the last thing he needed to be doing was rushing over to her like a love sick fool who couldn't bear one more second apart.

Okay, so he was, but Beca didn't need to know that.

She didn't need yet another reason to mock him.

Finally, after three months of staring at computer screens and phone screens and anything else that had let him communicate with her across the many states in their way, he laid his eyes on her – actually  _her_ – lying peacefully on her back. He stopped in his tracks a few feet away to take her in. She had the usual black skinny jeans on, with her hair free around her shoulders and a plaid shirt half buttoned over a tank top. Her well-loved headphones blocked out the rest of the world, and her eyes were closed, her face turned to the warm sun. He took the opportunity to just absorb her, despite his strong desire to gather her up in his arms and hold her so tightly she might just explode.

There was something about the way her rich brown hair shined in the light that was so  _appealing_ to him. He loved playing with it between his fingers, laughing at how she rolled her eyes at him when he complained about split ends or when she hadn't brushed it yet to free it of knots. He loved how she would get irritated when she tried to style it after their longer lazing around sessions, how she never tied it up anymore because she knew he complained when she did.

He watched how her chest raised with each breath, how her fingers tapped out a lazy beat, how her foot twitched sporadically in a way that she hated but he found amusing every time. He noted how she didn't have any earrings or ear spikes in, how there was only a shadow of make up on her face rather than the usual heaviness.

"If you don't get over here and carry me somewhere private to be manhandled, I'm going to have to start reconsidering our little arrangement."

The grin on his face from her voice shone brightly, but he toned it down so it fell into a smirk when she lazily opened one eye, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the bright sunlight. "Of all the things to be your first words to me this year and you go with  _that_?"

She smirked right back up at him because she knew he was really struggling to not do exactly as she'd told him to.  _God he'd missed her._ "Because yours were so much better?"

He held a hand out to her. "Would you just get up already so I can make everyone within a twenty foot radius feel awkward?"

She pressed her lips together, trying to keep back her smile, but relented and let him help pull her up. Before she even had her balance he was grabbing her hips, pulling her harshly against him in an Oscar-worthy kiss that was three months in the making. Her hands cupped his jaw, her chest arching into him, and he could feel the smile she'd failed to suppress against his mouth. He had missed this. He had missed her.

God, he really was a lovesick fool.

"It's good to be back," he murmured against her lips, kissing her quickly again.

"I missed you," she whispered in confession, and his eyes popped open while hers stayed firmly shut. She kissed him softly, a hand trailing down his chest.

"I really, really missed you."

She lent her forehead against his, seemingly content to just stand there in his arms. "You're late."

"I know," he groaned, thinking of his mischievous dog. "I'm sorry, Megs stole clothes out of my bag and we had to hunt around for them."

She pulled back to look at him, her arms wrapped around his neck as his thumb rubbed lazy circles into her back. "If she wanted to make you stay she should have just taken your DVDs."

He pecked a kiss on her nose. "Not even that could keep me away too long."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "You have some real co-dependency issues."

"Speaking of, aren't you supposed to be with the Bella's?" he asked with a frown. "I thought we chose our time so we could get over there in time after seeing each other."

She just shrugged. "Everyone else is there to man the stall. I may have made ulterior arrangements."

He raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Oh really? Like what?"

"Well I was going to see Luke after the obligatory reunion here, but you  _had_  to go and be late." She rolled her eyes with a heavy sigh but grinned when his grip on her tightened a little.

"You think you're so funny, don't you?"

"I'm hilarious." She pressed a kiss into his lips. "I also think my boyfriend needs to hurry up on that manhandling thing we discussed."

"Want me to call Luke for you then?"

"That'd be great, thanks."

"While you're at it, I might go visit Stacie…"

She scoffed. "There's no way you could handle Stacie."

His eyes widened in mock horror. "I handle you pretty damn well don't I?"

She shrugged nonchalantly, but she had become terrible at biting back her teasing smile. "Says the guy who has been told twice now that he's free to do so but is yet to make an actual move."

He let go of her with just one arm, leaning over awkwardly to grab her bag before pulling her tightly into his side. "Your room better be okay because I haven't even unpacked yet."

She looped her arm around his waist as they walked quickly towards her dorm. "Even if it wasn't okay I'd still find some place to be able to take your clothes off."

He smirked down at her. "Did I mention how much I missed you?"

She laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I missed you too weirdo."

* * *

He sighs wistfully. Their second year at Barden had been a great one.

Finding strength in the memory, he unclips his seatbelt and finally opens the car door. It closes softly, the wind harsh on his face as he pauses again. The curtain twitches. He wonders what she's waiting for. Is she really waiting for him to walk up to the door and knock? Is she that stubborn that she won't just come out and meet him halfway? He wishes she would. It would make things so much easier.

Four steps.

Stop.

Maybe she won't because this time, she's not planning on forgiving him.

Step back.

Maybe their last fight had been the last straw, and she has finally given up on him. He wouldn't be all that surprised. He's been wearing thin on the amount of chances she gives him recently. But that doesn't mean he's not ready to beg for another one.

One step.

Just one more chance. He won't mess it up this time, he's sure of it.

Three steps.

He wishes she would look again. He wishes he could see her face for just a second, just so he knows what he's walking into. He wishes he hadn't been such an idiot And made that near fatal mistake.

Two steps back.

No. Keep going.  _You can do this._

Five steps forward.

His complicated dance has ended with him standing at the bottom of the two porch steps. He looks at them closely, at the way the wood has eroded slightly over time in the middle of the step. He sees the dent from when they first moved in and the kitchen box she was carrying split in her hands. He looks at the faded blood stain from the knife that had cut her. He thinks of how calm she had stayed while he freaked out beside her.

Two steps.

He feels like Rocky did when he made it to the top of the steps at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

All he has to do now is raise his fist… And knock. It's simple. Nothing to be scared of. It's just a stupid noise.

* * *

He woke that morning to loud, persistent knocking.

Groaning, he rolled over in his bed, exhausted from his restless night and hard working days. Jesse didn't want to be awake. He wanted to be sleeping off the past 48 hours and pretending that he wasn't graduating college tomorrow afternoon. He wanted to not have that incessant banging rattling right through his brain from whoever had decided to rudely interrupt his nicely silent room.

Louder banging. He heard his name. He threw a spare pillow in the door's general direction.

"Jesse Swanson get your lazy ass out of bed!"

He groaned again. Having Donald back in town for their graduation made him feel eighteen again. It was a strange contrast to the way his aching muscles and lethargic limbs made him feel about a hundred.

"If you don't open this door in the next five seconds I'm posting that video from –"

The door bashed against the wall with the speed he dived out of bed and to the door.

To his surprise, Donald was not alone on the other side of the door. His older friend glanced him over quickly before humming with a thought, turning and walking back to wherever he had come from, leaving him alone with his anxious looking maybe-not-anymore-girlfriend who was avoiding his gaze at all costs.

"Oh -  _Wow_ ," he said in surprise, tugging on his shirt to try and straighten it out. It was ridiculous, he knew, because Beca had probably seen him at his most hideous at some point over their three year relationship, but for some reason he felt severely under dressed and far too casual.

Probably something to do with the strapless black prom dress, completed with gold studded bust, that she seemed to be sporting rather uncomfortably.

"Beca." Her name slipped from his lips without a warning, and she instinctively looked up at him. There was make up smudged under her bloodshot eyes. He noticed how her hair looked only half done, with random sections pinned back and others left free.

"Chloe was testing my stuff for tomorrow," she said in explanation, her voice cracking weakly, "She was doing my hair and kept trying to put it back."

"Okay," he replied stupidly, because he had no idea what else there was  _to_  say.

"I just kept thinking about how you wouldn't like it," she rambled, her eyes on her quivering hands. "I couldn't stop pulling the pins out because I know how you like it down and I thought that you'd appreciate it, you know, because tomorrow is graduation and it's our last day here and I thought maybe you would like it down because I know you prefer it that way."

He took a step back, giving her space to enter the room. She walked in slowly, her eyes washing over the packed boxes and bare walls. There wasn't much left; even the movies had been wrapped up and put away.

He closed the door softly behind them, leaning back against it to watch her stare at his belongings. She'd walked over with no shoes on, he noted. The label stuck out of her dress at the back. A section of her hair curled over her spine, and he realised how small she seemed in that moment. The girl who refused to go unnoticed, who stood tall and proud and took no shit from anyone had somehow been reduced to a shaking, vulnerable wreck.

The realisation hit him hard in the gut.

He had done that to her.

Stepping closer, his hand touched the curve of her waist, making her jump a little. His fingers slid under her arm and ever so gently, trying not to overwhelm her or scare her, he let himself curl around her, holding her lightly until she finally leant back into his chest, her palms stroking over his wrists.

"I'm sorry I got scared," she breathed.

"I forgive you."

"Promise?"

"You don't need to be afraid," he whispered through her hair into her ear. He heard her snivel and the noise alone made his gut clench with the added pain. "Please don't be scared."

"I thought I was ready for this," she muttered, lost in her own thoughts. "I thought moving on from here would be easy."

He presses his nose into the crown of her head, smelling her shampoo and hairspray and the scent of overheated hair. He didn't realise how wrong it felt to sleep without her the night before until that moment.

"Just because it isn't easy, doesn't mean it isn't right."

The muscles down her back clenched.

"Jesse…" She twisted herself round, her skirts trapped against him, her hands running up his arms to lock around his neck. "I'm terrified."

He pulled her even closer, hugging her tightly. "There's nothing to be terrified of."

"There's you."

It was quiet for a long moment as he digested her words.

"You don't see it, do you?" She leaned back in his arms just enough to see his face. "You don't see how much you scare me."

He frowned. "I don't understand."

"My feelings for you terrify me because I don't know what to do with them. They make me reconsider everything I have ever wanted, because now you're all I really want, and I just…" Her eyes closed while she straightened out her thoughts. "I'm doing my best, it's just strange to know that after our road trip we're moving in together. In LA. It's strange to know that we're both chasing our dreams together… But that now they're one collective dream."

He couldn't help it; her words made a smile grow larger and larger across his face as he let her confession wash over him, sending tingles through his body. Somehow, Jesse didn't really care anymore about catching up on sleep or preparing for graduation. He didn't care about anything but her.

Stroking one of the sections of hair off her face, he laughed breathlessly. "I'm going to love you for the rest of forever."

Normally, Beca would roll her eyes and make some kind of retort to push away the seriousness of a statement like that, but that time she remained very solemn, staring up at his with this indescribable look in her eyes. "I have the funniest feeling that I'll love you forever, too."

He kissed her sweetly, a hand running up her ribs and enjoying the feel of her there, against him, with him. He felt the top of her zipper under his fingers. He thought of the tattoo lying just underneath the material, his own words inscribed into her forever. She knew what he was doing, because hers trailed down his chest, resting over his pounding heart and his own tattoo – a black star.

"Beautiful and breathtaking and more than a little deadly," he quoted against her lips. She laughed and pulled him to her again, sealing their promises to love each other unconditionally with a wonderful kiss.

* * *

He has to knock twice before the red door slowly opens, its hinges squeaking in protest.

He's looking down at the ground in shame, so the first thing he sees is her bare feet on the welcome mat. Her toe nails are painted a strange shade of pink, which means one or more of the Bella's had visited at some point and subjected her to what they thought would make her better. He wouldn't be surprised if he finds empty ice cream tubs and chocolate bar wrappers in the bin later on.  _If_ there's a later on.

Slowly raising his head, he takes in her ratty old leggings that she still insists on keeping despite ruining them back in college. The fact she's wearing them means she's not even been in the mood to work on her music – this is very bad news for him. He knows now just how royally he has fucked up.

One hand is still wrapped around the door handle, but the other is clenched tightly in a fist at her side, hovering next to the hem of her even older yellow and black plaid shirt that's three sizes too big. It's faded from its years of wear and washing, but she finds a strange comfort in it. He suspects it's something to do with her mother, but he's never asked and she's never told him.

The glint from her black star necklace around her neck catches his eye for half a second before he looks up at her face. There's not a scrap of make up there, and her mouth is pressed into a hard line, her eyes full of an angry fire. He almost winces under the intensity of them. Her hair is scrapped back into a messy bun, which tells him even more. She only ties her hair up when she has things to do, when she doesn't need him distracting her by playing with it. He doesn't think she's aware of this habit, but he's learnt a lot from their years together.

* * *

The groan of frustration was what drew his attention first.

Jesse glanced up from his book from his spot of the couch, looking across the room towards the desk they had shoved in the corner. They had only been in the apartment for about a week, and they had both been putting off unpacking anything but the bare necessities, so cardboard boxes surrounded them both, various labels scrawled over them in his messy handwriting. He was aware that there was probably a bigger reason at play as to why they hadn't unpacked everything, but he was happy enough to help edge Beca into it, slowly finding reasons to unpack this item and that from their massive amount of stuff. It seemed to be working, because Beca hadn't yet had any form of freak out over their messy mix of movies and records on the shelves or around the TV, or the combination of their toiletries in the bathroom cupboard.

Her elbows were leaning on the desk top, her head in her hands, grumbling under her breath about whatever it was she was doing on her laptop. He let the book fall onto his chest as he observed her. She was actually dressed - which was more than could be said for him in his sweat pants and old shirt – in dark jeans and a button down shirt he was half convinced was actually his. Her shoulders were slumped over, and when he squinted he could just make out her mixing program open on her computer screen.

She sighed in exasperation and pulled at the hair tie holding her hair back in a low ponytail, and immediately he was up off the couch, leaving his book on the floor as he walked towards her. She tilted her head in her hands slightly to see him approaching, and he knelt at her side, pressing his lips against her neck and threading a hand into her newly freed hair. She smiled despite her frustration, leaning her cheek on the top of his head, and he just sat there for a moment, breathing her in and massaging her scalp as she hummed at how it relaxed her.

"Is the bad program not doing what you want to do?" he mumbled, twisting his head to look at her screen. She was attempting to layer Daft Punk over a Foreigner song, and as he normally did when he saw her projects before she was finished, he wondered how she possibly thought they could go together. She always proved him wrong though. He loved the way she could just take what he thought to be impossible and so easily make it real.

"I want to throw the damn thing out the window," she said bitterly, and he bit his lip to stop himself chuckling at how he could actually hear the pout in her voice. He pressed his fingers into her skull harder and she hummed again.

"Well lets not please, we can't afford a new one. How about we just take a break and do something else?"

He felt his hair shift with her sigh. "Will you read to me?"

He smiled. About a year ago, Beca had developed a strange thing for listening to him read aloud, especially when they were lying in bed and about to go to sleep. She always fell asleep when he did it, but he didn't mind so much. He liked how she was completely at ease in those moments, how she just let herself be totally with him, nothing distracting her or playing on her mind except the words he read from the page.

"I've read on from where we finished last night," he explained as he got up, taking her hand as she stood up and they walked back over to the couch. "So you might be a bit behind."

She shrugged. "I've already seen the movies, I know what happens anyway."

He grinned at her, because if there was one thing he hadn't expected to achieve out of their relationship, it was getting Beca to sit through the entire Harry Potter series. Admittedly, it had not been all at the same time, but it was still one of his proudest achievements.

He fell back into his position on the couch, kicking his feet up so he lay across the cushions, and she climbed over him so she was snuggled between him and the back of the couch. He wrapped an arm around her waist as she rested hers over his ribs, her head on his shoulder, and he picked his book up from the floor, scanning the page until he found where he had stopped a few minutes before.

"You okay?" he asked before he began as she shifted slightly, lifting her leg a little so it could rest on top of his own.

"Perfect," she sighed happily, and she closed her eyes as he cleared his throat, his words vibrating against her cheek.

" _Ron held up his badge. Mrs Weasley let out a shriek just like Hermione's…"_

* * *

She raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to speak. He thinks she might be ready to slam the door in his face any second.

"Hey."

She keeps quiet, waiting for him to get to the point.

"I'm sorry."

Her jaw tenses and her eyes shine, and it's like he can see her heart breaking. Jesse hates himself for causing that. He hates himself for everything he's done to her. Still keeping silent, she averts her gaze to behind him, but he ploughs on; he has everything to lose and suddenly the threat of that is very, very real.

"I shouldn't have stormed out yesterday; that was wrong. I'm sorry."

She sniffs; that isn't why she's mad, and he knows it, but it's a start. Maybe tackling the little things will make it easier to sort out the big issue at the heart of it all. He has a lot of things to be forgiven for, and he doesn't know if she has it in her to forgive him for so much. Jesse's watched enough movies to know that sometimes, love isn't enough.

"Can I come in?" he asks, and she stands firm for a full minute, watching him watch her. But there's a struggle in her head, he can see it, and luckily for him, the right side wins that allows her to step aside and close the door behind him.

The front door opens straight into the living room with the staircase tucked against the wall right in front, and he glances around the room. Two years have passed since they moved in, so the boxes are long gone and it would look homely now if not for the gaping holes in the shelves, the strewn clothes on the floor, gaps apparent on top of the mantelpiece. The mess and the missing are his fault, he knows, from the last time he left, from the last time things went like this.

She walks straight across the living room to the doorway opposite the front door, the doorway without a door that leads to the kitchen. He listens to her clattering around, crockery against crockery, until there's a smash and a string of curses. He rushes over, peering through to see her standing by the sink with her back to him, the remains of one of their fancy plates lying broken on the ground.

Her shoulders shake.

She's crumbling in front of him and he doesn't know how to catch the pieces.

* * *

When he got home that day, she was standing nervously at the bottom of the stairs, fidgeting with her hands.

He dropped his bag and lazily kicked the door shut, heading straight to her to kiss her hello. "Hey babe."

She frowned, wrapping her arms around his neck in a comforting hug. "I'm so sorry, Jesse."

He hugged her back and sighed. "How did you know?"

"You only call me babe when you're sad."

He pulled back, running his fingers through her hair. "Just when I thought I couldn't love you more."

She laced their fingers together, walking him into the kitchen. She had been cooking. He thought he could smell his favourite. He wrapped his arm around her again, pulling her close, trying to let her know how truly grateful he was for her support.

"So what was their reason?" she asked once she'd left his side to check the meat in the oven.

"Something about the economy, not having the funds, the usual." He waved it off, falling into one of their mismatched wooden dining chairs heavily. He smiled at the wine glass full of beer waiting for him there. She was a true angel.

"Well it's their loss," she said as she carried on cooking. "It's okay, we'll find you something else."

"I suppose. How was your day?"

"Okay. I actually got to go into the studio today."

"Oh yeah?"

"Just to give Melbourne his midday coffee, but you know, start small."

He grinned at her back before sipping some of his beer. "It's definitely a step in the right direction."

She sighed. "I just wish he'd stop being such an ass and realise that I'm  _good_."

He got up from his seat to walk over to her, wrapping his arms around her as she stirred the pasta in its pot. "You're amazing."

She paused to twist her head, kissing him quickly. "We're both pretty awesome."

He chuckled into her hair. "Our time is coming, Beca. Just you wait. I got a good feeling things are about to start looking up."

Beca left her post to turn in his arms, looking up at him with the most adorable smile. "We've only been here, what, seventeen months? There's no way we're giving up so quickly."

He kissed the tip of her nose and her smile only grew. "I'm going to find something else, Beca, just you wait. I'm going to find a new internship, and you're going to start getting the recognition you deserve, and then we're going to raise the money for a wedding and some yellow paint for that spare room."

A grin spread across her face, and to his amazement, she quite hopefully said, "Wedding? You think we can handle marriage?"

He grinned right back. "I think we can handle anything as long as we're together."

She rolled her eyes but there was a new sparkle there. "You're such a cheeseball."

He looked down at her very seriously, letting his face fall into a solemn, nervous expression. "Beca?"

She swallowed thickly, her breath catching. "Yeah?"

"Will you… Will you do me the honour –"

"Jesse –"

"- Of saving my dinner from being burnt to a crisp?"

He chuckled at the expression on her face, how relieved she looked, before she slapped his chest and at the same time pushed him away, turning back to the stove. "You're an asshole," she muttered as he walked back to the table.

He laughed again. "I love you too!"

* * *

"Beca, are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?"

Her shoulders raise with the effort of taking a deep breath and then she bends down, gently picking up each of the pieces from the floor and stretching up to dump them in the sink. He hesitates, because he gets the strangest feeling that going near Beca when she's this upset and angry and has sharp weapons at her disposal is probably a terrible idea.

"What do you think?" she finally says in an eerily calm voice. "Do you think I'm  _okay_?"

"I know I was wrong. I was stupid. I shouldn't have walked out yesterday when we were fighting. It was the worst possible thing I could have done and I'm sorry, really."

"Sorry doesn't fix this, Jesse."

"I know, but…" He sighs. "Come on babe, I'm here aren't I? I'm trying."

Finished picking up the pieces, she drops her head for a moment before stretching up and hauling herself upright with her hands on the counter. "Trying to do what?"

"To fix this." He steps forward hesitantly as she finally turns to him. "To fix us."

Her arms cross over her chest and finally, the venom appears in her voice. "We wouldn't need fixing if it wasn't for you and your stupid ideas."

"Beca –"

"I don't want to hear your pathetic excuses anymore. I can't physically listen to your reasoning behind  _leaving_ me."

"I didn't leave you, Beca!" he yells, immediately chastising himself for it and the way it makes anger flood her expression again. "I didn't leave you," he repeats, forcing himself to be quieter.

"Really? Because from my point of view, that's  _exactly_ what you did."

* * *

He paced across the living room nervously, waiting for the moment she finally arrived through the door. He wasn't just nervous; he was terrified. Jesse had gone behind her back and done something… Stupid. Something that wasn't even supposed to  _work_. The chances of it happening were so tiny, so improbable that trying seemed like no big deal.

But now he had it. Finally.

A new job.

One catch.

It was in New York.

He shouldn't take it. He  _couldn't_ take it. How could he possibly go and spend six months interning in a city on the complete other side of the country? He couldn't just pack a bag and leave Beca in LA, alone, for half a year. She couldn't handle that. She'd be fine, of course, but he knew their relationship wouldn't be able to take that kind of strain. She'd bail, he knew that too. Beca couldn't handle the emotional turmoil of six months apart.

So why was he still considering it?

Why was he so nervous to tell her?

The latch on the door clicked and he froze in place, watching with wide eyes as she walked in, dragging her feet as she dumped her stuff and shut the door. Her eyes found him instantly, the ghost of her greeting smile on her lips that she'd never get to finish, because she'd seen his expression and now it was too late. Jesse had to tell her.

"What happened?" she said in a quiet voice. "Oh God did someone die? Was there some kind of accident?" Her eyes widened. "Was it Megs? Did your dad finally hear back from the vet?"

He stepped quickly towards her, grabbing her hands. "No, no, don't be silly, babe. It's nothing like that."

Her eyes were full of fear. "Would you just tell me already?"

He took a deep breath. "I got offered a job."

After a moment of shock, a delighted grin began to develop. "Oh my God, Jesse! That's amazing!"

She tried to hug him but he held her back, grimacing at the confused look she gave him. "I just… Beca… There's a problem with it."

"That's okay, I'm sure we can work it out, whatever it –"

"It's in New York."

She stiffened, letting go of his hands immediately. They fell uselessly to his side and he watched her expression morph from shock into anger to confusion, then back to shock. "New York?"

"It's with this amazing firm, it's one of the most sought after internships in my field and –"

"You're not… You're not seriously considering this, are you?"

He kept quiet.

"What – Jesus, Jesse, are you kidding me? Tell me this is another of your stupid jokes!" she demanded, stepping back towards the door. "Tell me you aren't actually thinking of accepting it?"

"I don't know," he said honestly. "It's so far away, I know, but it's the best chance I'm going to get to actually get somewhere, Beca. And it's only six months –"

"Only six months?" she spluttered. "Well that makes it all okay then!"

"Please, babe –"

"Don't 'babe' me, you son of a bitch. What, you thought you could just bombard me the second I got in from work with this news and that I'd take it  _well_?!"

"It's not a done deal yet, I just got the email today offering the job. I haven't said yes yet –"

"But you're  _thinking_ about it –"

"Tell me you wouldn't do the same. Tell me you would stop at nothing to achieve your dream," he said with hard eyes.

She shook her head, smiling humourlessly. "No, I wouldn't do the same. Because I may be determined, and I may be ambitious but if there was one thing that would stop me, it would be you. Being with you is more important than any stupid job offer."

They were both blinking back the tears, and he could see her closing off, leaving him on the outside. "Beca of course you're more important, but please, don't do this, don't make me choose."

She just stared at him, a single tear falling quickly down her cheek. "The fact you're even considering it is enough of an answer for me."

And she ran up the stairs before he could say another word, slamming their bedroom door behind her as they both felt the first strain on their relationship from this one job.

* * *

"That was eight months ago, Beca, are we really going to keep circling back to that?"

"Yeah eight months ago, which coincidentally also happens to be when our problems started! Oh wait, that's because it is the fucking problem!" Her hand bashes on the counter for emphasise and he jumps at the sudden noise.

"Beca, would you please just stop being mad about it for one minute to look at this all properly –"

"I'm looking at it just fine," she hisses. "And what I see is a perfectly happy life where my boyfriend and I were actually discussing  _marriage,_ that he then decided to screw up by going to the other side of the country for half a year!"

"What else was I supposed to do? We were running out of money and my career was going no where; I needed that internship!"

"Yeah and I needed you!" As soon as she shouts it she turns away, back towards the shattered plate pieces and away from his stunned silence. "You have no idea what it was like, being the one who got left behind. And it makes me so  _mad_ , because I should have known. I should have known that life is not some kind of fairytale where love is enough to get through everything."

"You don't really think that, do you?" he asks in a whisper, stepping closer again. She leans against the counter like she's lost the strength to stand; to fight.

"You knew I wasn't great at the love thing, but you taught me how to do it anyway. And you were always so good to me, taking things at my pace, not pushing too far. You made me love living you when we got here, and you were actually making me love the idea of the big stupid wedding and the spare room becoming a nursery. I actually  _wanted_ those things with you Jesse." She finally turns, tear tracks down her face. "I wanted everything with you, but then you left and I felt like I wasn't good enough."

"Beca…" He feels helpless, numb. Everything she'd said had been in past tense, and he sees it now, how far he's pushed her. He's ruined everything they had and the damage is beginning to look more and more irreparable. "That's not true, surely you must know that. You're more than good enough. You're everything I need, and I want those things too, I want them so badly." He steps closer so he's within touching distance, and he grabs at her hand, trying again with more success after she pulls it away. "I want to marry you, I want to have a family with you, more than anything in the entire world. But I can't even consider that idea if I don't have the means to support that dream."

She just shakes her head causing another tear to fall. "I let you go because I thought you'd come back. I thought you would realise what I already knew; that us being apart is too difficult. I waited; six months I waited. I thought that any minute, you'd just call and I'd answer and you'd be asking me to come get you from the airport."

He brings her hands up to his lips, kissing them softly. "Being away from you was the hardest thing I've ever done, and every day it got more and more difficult, but I had to do it. I had to stay and finish it so I could come home to you with something better than the constant failure I've been since we got here."

"You aren't a failure." She cups his jaw. "You are anything but a failure, Jesse."

He leans into her touch, for the first time seeing a glimmer of hope. "I love you, Beca. I love you so much."

She withdraws her hands, blinking away a new set of tears. "I love you too, so much that it hurts."

He smiles a little, trying to pull her closer, but she pushes away.

"No, you don't… Jesse, what I'm trying to say is that it _hurts_ to love you."

* * *

He almost screamed with joy as his suitcase finally came into view on the carousel, diving around the other passengers to get to it quicker. He hauled it off, struggling in his hurry. The excitement was making him jumpy and on edge. He was finally back on LA soil, and all he wanted to do was grab his girlfriend and lock them away in their bedroom while they made up for lost time.

He heaved the overweight bag over to his now full trolley, stacked with two suitcases and his carry on bag, and started walking as quickly as was socially acceptable towards the arrivals lounge. His hands would be shaking if he wasn't gripping the handle of the trolley so tightly. He was just so  _excited_.

He tapped his foot impatiently as he got trapped behind a crowd of people, blocking up any way of getting around them in the wide corridor. Luckily, one of them turned enough to see him and apparently noticed how his eagerness was making him flustered, because she dragged some of her friends aside so he could race by, throwing a thank you over his shoulder before jogging down the final stretch. Just a few more seconds. He was almost there.

Finally, after six long months apart, he turned the corner and instantly laid eyes on her, standing nervously at the front of a crowd of other people waiting for their loved ones. She was jumping from one foot to the other, and she hadn't noticed him yet, checking the time on her phone with an anxious crease between her eyebrows.

"BeCAW!" he called loudly, cupping his hands around his mouth as he let his trolley slow to a stop in front of him. Immediately she looked up at him, and tears sprang to her eyes as she grinned breathlessly at him in a way that mirrored his own. She sprang into action, sprinting the short amount of space between them before she jumped, letting him catch her in his arms and spinning with the force of it, her legs and arms wrapped tightly around him as she cried into his neck.

The second her skin touched him he knew he was home. Her scent and the feel of her and the way she just seemed so  _happy_ to see him made him choke a little on his emotion, gripping her impossibly tighter as for the first time in half a year, that heavy weight on his chest lifted and was instead replaced with a swelling as he knew, in that instant, he wouldn't waste another second without her.

"Shit, Beca, it is so good to see you," he mumbled into her shoulder.

"Don't you dare leave me ever again," she replied with a small sob, her lips peppering kisses up his neck and along his jaw.

"Never ever," he managed to get out before she claimed his lips, kissing him hard enough to bruise. He pushed a hand into his hair – and wow had he missed her hair – and pulled her closer, loving the feel of her weight around him, the way she fit so perfectly against him.

"I love you," he breathed heavily against her mouth when they pulled reluctantly apart.

"I love you too, weirdo," she replied, a smile breaking out as she kissed him again quickly before unwrapping herself from around him. "I'll love you even more when you hurry to the car already so I can rush you home and have my wicked way with you."

"Ah, Beca," he sighed happily as he grabbed his trolley, no longer forgotten. "You have no idea how long I've waited for you to say that."

She just smirked, wrapping an arm around him like she couldn't bear to not be touching him now she finally could. He understood the feeling perfectly. "Oh trust me, I understand you perfectly."

He groaned, only then taking in her outfit of a long trench coat and black two inch heels. "You're not wearing anything under that, are you?"

She smiled innocently as they passed a young family. "Nope."

Groaning again, he slowed to a stop. "Climb on before I get us arrested for indecent exposure."

Beca hopped onto the trolley and perched on his suitcases, and she giggled when he started racing them through the exit towards the car park, six months of pent up frustration of being away from her spurring him on. But it was okay, he reasoned as they narrowly avoided smashing into a parked car, because he had every intention of making up for lost time with her the second they were alone.

* * *

"I don't… I don't understand," he whispers.

She looks away towards the linoleum floor, stepping back to put more space between them. "You have no idea how much you've hurt me, Jesse. I tried reasoning with myself, I did, because I know that the internship was important to you. I know it was what you wanted, and I told myself that we loved each other enough to get through the months apart. And we did, because we are a strong couple and I knew that at the end of it all, it was me you were coming home to. But it was tough being away from you, and it scares me because… Because now I…"

A sob interrupts her words, but he knows what she's thinking and it horrifies him. "You know you can live without me."

"I don't want to," she rushes to amend, "But I just can't stop thinking that that's why you left the letter out for me."

He scoffs, the sudden raise in volume from him startling her. "Why do you still think I left that out on purpose? I may be an idiot but I'm not stupid enough to think that's the best way to tell you."

"I just don't know how to… How to trust you anymore."

"You can trust me," he pleads, taking her hands again and holding them to his chest. "I love you Beca, and I don't want to be away from you again. Those six months were torture for me, but I did it for us so we could have a future. I'm not going anywhere without you again, Beca. I can't do that again. The letter was… I didn't mean to just leave it out. I was still  _processing_ , trying to figure it all out –"

"We're a couple, Jesse, we should have been figuring it out together!" she protests, her eyes wild. "You kept it from me for two weeks! What was I supposed to think when I found it?"

"That's not the point, the point is that this whole thing is a mute point because I already turned them down."

She opens her mouth but her words are gone with his confession. "You what?"

"I called them up last night, told them I wasn't taking the job."

"But Jesse, that job was perfect for you…"

" _You're_ perfect for me. I don't care about that job, I'll find another one here."

She groans hopelessly. "Now I just feel like I'm holding you back! Jesse if you want the job –"

"I don't want it," he says easily, "I already told you, I'm not leaving you again. Our lives are here, in LA, with our tiny house with the red door and the spare room with the yellow paint and the engagement ring inside a DVD case."

She visibly balks at his words, once more stunned into silence. "What?" she squeaks, her eyes wide.

"You heard me. Go look."

But she seems to be stuck fast to her spot, so instead he walks into the living room towards the shelves with the gaps, pulling out the one DVD she never let him take away. When he turns, she's in the doorway, staring at him with wet cheeks and a indecipherable look in her blue eyes.

"I bought it my first week in New York," he explains as he walks back towards her. "When I knew that I never wanted to be apart from you again. I put it in here because it's us." He hands her the dvd case of  _The Breakfast Club_  and she takes it with trembling fingers. "I was waiting for the right time, but after all the catching up you got busy with work and I was looking for work, and then you found the letter…"

"You asshole," she breathes, looking down at the case without opening it. "Why didn't you tell me this yesterday instead of leaving?"

"I tried, I did, but I wasn't about to get down on one knee in the middle of a fight was I?"

"Would have been better than what you did."

"Granted, but if I hadn't we'd only have pushed each other over the edge."

She looked up at him, her eyes bloodshot from all the tears. "You asshole," she whispers again. "I can't believe…"

"Do you trust me?" he asks earnestly.

"I- I don't –"

"I need to know you trust me, Beca. I'm only telling you about the ring because I need you to understand how serious I am. I need you to understand that I'm not going anywhere and that I'd rather be jobless and broke with you than working and trying to justify everything to myself without you. So do you trust me?"

* * *

He woke up that morning on the couch in the same position as the night before, realizing he must have fallen asleep while watching his movie. Except he didn't wake naturally, because there was a large amount of crashing and fumbling and muttering coming from behind him that he couldn't seem to place.

He lifted himself up, surprised to see Beca behind him, stuffing things into a bag.  _His_  bag.  _His_ clothes. He frowned and got up, rushing over to her to grab her wrists and stop her doing whatever it is she was doing. She snatched her hands away, continuing on in a fuming silence, and he glanced around helplessly.

Which is when, of course, he noticed what had happened to the living room.

His two suitcases were lined up against one wall, stuffed full of his movies and some of his clothes, three pairs of shoes precariously balanced on top. A cardboard box sat beside it, undoubtedly also full of his belongings, and he just gaped at the scene because he had absolutely no idea what happened to cause this reaction.

"Beca? Beca what are you doing?"

"Packing your bags for you," she said absently, yanking at the zip on the large bag she'd finished filling.

"Why?"

"For when you move."

He paused, realising it was time to tread carefully. "Where am I moving?"

"New York." She straightened up, her gaze challenging as she pulled a sheet of paper out of the back pocket of her jeans. He took it from her cautiously, but the second he unfolded it he knew why he was in such big trouble.

"Oh."

"Is that really all you have to say?" she exploded. "I confront you about a job offer on the other side of the country that you've been keeping from me, and all you can say is 'oh'?!"

"Beca, stop, this isn't what –"

"Don't even finish that sentence!" she yelled. "Don't you dare! This is exactly what I think!"

He yanked the bag out of her grip, unzipping it furiously and tipping it upside down so the contents fell out. "Beca would you stop being insane for one minute!"

"Why? Why should I stop being insane? It's not like I have anything left to lose!"

"You're not even going to listen to my side of the story?"

"I already know your side of the story! You got a job offer at your dream firm where they all loved you and that you haven't stopped talking about for the month you've been home, and you kept it from me because you knew how I'd react!"

"Well I didn't expect you to get this insane –"

"Jesse I really don't give a damn what you have to say right now. Go tell it the people of New York, I'm sure they'll be very happy to listen to your bullshit!"

"Beca –"

Her palm collided sharply with his cheek. "Get out," she whispered.

"No."

"Get the  _fuck_ out of my house."

"No, I'm not leaving." He stomped his foot for effect, but it just seemed to piss her off more.

"That's what you said before but evidently that's one giant lie you enjoy telling me!"

"Beca would you listen to yourself right now?"

"Why are you still here?" she seethed, and if looks could kill… He swallowed, taking a deep calming breath. Beca was evidently beyond reason, so he knew he had to take charge of the situation.

"You want me to go, I'll go," he said simply. "If that's what you want, I'll do it."

He stepped towards the door but she grabbed his arm tightly. "No, Jesse –"

"Which do you want, Beca? Am I staying or going?"

"Why did you keep this from me?" she asked instead, pointing at the letter scrunched up in his fist. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't even know what I thought about it, never mind anything else."

She let go of his arm, stepping away. "This is what happened last time."

"No."

"You hesitated over telling me because you were considering it. And you  _went_."

"No, babe, that's not it."

"Oh my God." Her hands flew to cover her mouth, her eyes unfocused. "You actually want to go!"

"Beca, stop-"

She grabbed his bag from the floor at his feet. "You want to go? Fine by me. See if I care!"

She pushed the bag into his grip and run to the stairs, rushing up them to their room.

"Beca!" he called helplessly after her. "Beca come on!"

"Go to hell!" she yelled back, and he sighed. There was no way he was going to be able to fix this any time soon.

* * *

She presses the movie case into his chest, and he automatically takes it from her. Her eyes are full of determination, her face a perfect mask, and suddenly he can feel butterflies in his stomach, filling him with anxiety and dread.

"Prove it."

Two words, but somehow they have the power to completely flummox him. "What?"

"You want me to trust you? Prove it."

He looks down at the case in his hand. He can hear the ring rattling around inside. "Beca…"

"You say you're not going to leave me, and I want to believe you, I do, but right now I can't so you need to prove to me that you're sticking around because I don't know if I can handle the stress anymore at the thought of you going back to that place. I need you here and I need you with me, so if you need me too you'll get down on one knee and damn well prove it to me," she says in a shaky voice, looking at him expectantly.

Jesse pops open the case but doesn't open it, instead leaning forward to press a gentle kiss against her forehead. Her eyes flutter closed, and when they open he can see that she's softened, the same look there she gets when he reads to her or late at night when they're just holding each other, listening to the sounds of the city.

Surrounded by the debris from their fight the day before, Jesse lowers himself to one knee, opening the case further until she can see the ring resting in the middle, the gold band shining and the diamond sparkling. He looks up at her with as much love as he can muster, and then he speaks the words he's dreamt of saying to her since he realised just how amazing she was within a week of knowing her.

"Marry me."


	10. Take A Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca's dad has a habit of calling at ridiculous times in the morning, and this time Jesse gets a just as ridiculous idea.

"Beca, Beca." Someone is nudging her. "Beca your phone is ringing."

"Take a message," she mumbles into her pillow, tightening her grip around it and sighing peacefully, her body so very heavy with disturbed sleep.

"You take a message," Jesse mutters beside her, the hand he'd been using to nudge her lying flat on the small of her bare back. It's hot against her cool skin. His thumb draws small circles there and it tickles, waking her up further as her phone continues to ring loudly.

With a loud huff she stretches out an arm and snatches up her phone, pointedly ignoring Jesse when he chuckles from her other side, and she groans when she sees the caller I.D.

"Dad, when are you going to start understanding the concept of time differences?" Her annoyed voice is still muffled by the pillow so she twists her head, resting the phone on her ear.

"Sorry, Beca. Just wanted to check in, see how you are."

Jesse rolls closer to her and presses his forehead against her arm that is curled under her pillow. "You're calling me at seven in the morning on a Saturday to see how I am?"

"Yes."

"I'm fine dad, can I go back to sleep now?" Jesse blows a raspberry under her arm pit and she spins her head around in annoyance, glaring at him as she switches the phone to her other ear. His eyes are still shut but he's smirking, and she pushes the hand on her back away in punishment.

"And how's Jesse?"

Her man child boyfriend's smirk grows and she realises he can hear both sides of the conversation. "His usual, idiotic self." Jesse pouts and lazily opens one eye to see her sarcastic smile.

"How's he enjoying the new job?" She wonders if her dad is doing this on purpose. "What did he say it was?"

"Assistant to some big wig composer," Beca answers and Jesse looks proud of himself. She is too, and so she lets him put his arm back around her. "Yeah he's doing well. He got to touch the piano the other day."

"Yeah I did," Jesse mumbles and Beca rolls her eyes.

"Well I'm glad its working out for him." Her dad pauses. "How's that internship going?"

"No, dad, I haven't given up yet." Her fathers complete lack of faith in her chosen career path stings every time she thinks about or he mentions it, but it spurs her on. She is determined to prove him wrong, no matter how long it to do so, and when Jesse's grip around her tightens slightly she knows that at least  _he_  believes in her. That's all she really needs.

"Well that's good I suppose," her dad grumbles, but she barely notices because Jesse's hand has decided to trail down her spine and under the sheets and it leaves behind a burning trail of goosebumps. She narrows her eyes at him in warning, but his face is perfectly innocent, like he's  _not_  grazing his finger tips along the inside of her thigh, just above her knee.

"Was there any other... Any other reason you called?" She hates how breathy she sounds, how Jesse's gentle caresses are making her forget pretty much everything but how good his touch feels.

"Uh, well yes actually." Jesse leans towards her and his lips press against the arch of her neck. She aims the microphone of the phone away from her a little, because her heavy breathing is really not something her dad needs to hear. "Sheila and I were wondering when you're next coming home. You've not been back since you moved last year."

Jesse shifts beside her for a better angle so he can trail kisses from one shoulder blade to the other. The cool of the morning collides deliciously with his warmth on her bare back. "You know the t-ticket is expensive."

"I've offered to pay already, and I miss you, Bec."

His hand trails down her ribs, his breath hot on her neck as he parts her hair to press butterfly kisses up her spine. "Getting off... Work is difficult."

"You didn't even come home for Christmas," he accuses, and she feels a little bad for their actual plans, spent with Jesse's family upon much bickering - Jesse had refused to not be with his little sister and he refused to be parted from her, but she had wanted to stay in their little apartment. He had gotten his wish after promising -

Jesse is actually  _straddling_  her thighs, his thumbs pressing hard into the knot of muscles between her shoulders. She muffles the moan in the pillow, holding the phone away as her dad continues to rant.

"Jesse," she breathes, unable to be angry about how insane he was driving her at an incredibly inappropriate moment. "You really need to not do this when -"

"Beca are you even listening to me?" Her dads voice is tinny from the phone and she quickly brings it back to her ear.

"Dad, look, I promise I w-will be home soon, okay? Just g-give me some... Some time to find the money and get the t-time off."  _Fuck_ , he is seriously messing with her head.

Jesse's lips are back, kissing softly down her spine like he's trying to kiss each damn disc. Her spare hand snakes out to still his hand that is dangerously close to working its way under her ribs.

"I really need to see you, Bec," her dad says despondently, and she just makes a raspy noise in agreement as Jesse seems to be cracking in his self control, his fingers dancing everywhere -

"Dad," she gasps, flushing furiously. "I really need to go now, I'll call you next weekend."

Jesse lifts his weight a little so he gently twist her beneath him. "Okay, Bec -"

"Bye." She hangs up quickly, unable to tear her eyes away from Jesse's who are dark and mischievous. He'd sitting over her staring quite obviously at her chest so she runs a hand up his own, his bare skin warm under her wanting fingers.

"I can't believe you did that," she tries to scold, but she just sounds soft and in no small amount turned on.

"It could have been far worse." He places his hands on the pillow either side of her head, leaning over her mockingly. The shifting of their bodies makes her whine a little, her legs trapped firmly between his.

"Would you please just kiss me already?"

He happily follows orders, and she threads her fingers in his hair to push him closer. He's goading her, trying to be a tease, but she's having none of that. She wants  _him_ , ASAP, because if she's going to be awake at this unholy hour on a Sunday morning, she's at least going to enjoy herself.


	11. Giant Softie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca does Jesse a favour.

"I'm finished." The words were a surprise, but I should have seen them coming. Beca had a gift, and I didn't really know why I had doubted her for even just a second. I had waited for hours, sitting on the couch flicking through her music magazines, half expecting her to throw some form of tantrum over the apparently not-so-impossible task I had set her. But no, Beca was stretching her arms high above her head, a little box in on her laptop screen announcing the exporting process of the track.

"You're finished?"

"I wouldn't say it if I wasn't." Beca turned around in her chair and looked at me expectantly. I pulled my legs off the arm of the couch and walked over to her, kissing her absently on the forehead as I glanced over her to her favourite music mixing programme.

"You really did it?"

"I really did it."

"Wow." I looked down at her proud smile, at her sparkling blue eyes, and I grasped her jaw and kissed her hard. "You're amazing, Becs. I can't believe you did it!"

"I can't believe you doubted me." She bit her lip and turned away, clicking on a few buttons and suddenly a song was playing through her speakers, the song I had composed but been unable to compile properly without her. She'd done it beautifully, far better than I'd even imagined it, and I couldn't help gasping as the song reached a crescendo. Her head fell back on my chest and her hand rested on my neck and I couldn't believe I was lucky enough to be a part of her life.

"Thank you,"I whispered as it came to a finish. "You have just saved my life."

"Just remember, you owe me." My lips lingered in her hair and I ran a hand down her side. I chuckled at her comment and the connotations behind it. "I'm serious, I'm planning on cashing in on that favour some time soon."

"Of course." I walked back towards the couch to find my phone so I could call my boss and let him know I'd managed to complete my assignment. "I'll be ready for when you want it."

I heard her chair squeak as she swivelled towards me, her eyebrow raised in amusement. "You think you know what I want from you?"

I smirked. "I know I know what you want from me."

"And what's that?"

I strolled over to her cockily, and I knew she could tell what I was thinking because she turned away before I could reach her, shaking her head in time with her shoulders as she laughed quietly. I spun the chair back to face me and lent my hands on the desk so our faces were level, my nose grazing hers.

"You want me."

Her eyes flickered to my lips but she kept her expression neutral. "Nope."

"Don't deny it, I can see it in your eyes."

"I don't know what..." She trailed off as I peppered kisses along her jaw. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm not so sure about that."

"I was thinking more of... Of asking fo-for a nice dinner or... Or to get rid of that st-stupid statue thing in the hallway..." I smiled against her neck at her struggle to make words. Her breathing was shallow and her finger nails dug into my arms sharply. "Or have a... Movie free weekend..."

I gasped dramatically, pulling back with a distressed expression. "Never!" She stared back at me with hungry eyes. "Besides, that 'stupid statue' is amazing, why don't you want to display it?"

"Because its ridiculous," she said with a roll of her eyes, her grip loosening on my arms as I kept myself away.

"It's an award Beca, its something you should be proud of."

Dropping her head back, she groaned loudly - this was a conversation we'd had on several occasions - and I quickly kissed her on her lips, grinning at her squeak of surprise. Her eyes narrowed at me but I was basically immune to her cold stares after having an infinite amount directed my way since the day we met six years ago.

"I'm not letting you move it," I said firmly.

"Then I'm not letting you have sex with me."

"One of those things is very unlikely to actually happen, and I can tell you now its not mine." I grinned at the frustrated curl to her lips. She shoved my chest, using her feet to push away from me by ducking under my arm and aiming the wheels towards the other side of the room, but I was too quick, grabbing the back of the chair and pulling hard so she came right back.

"Jesse," she snapped, "stop being such a -"

"Grateful and adoring fiancée?" I interrupted sweetly, kissing her diamond ring softly and watching her eyes soften a little. I looked up at her seriously. "Really Beca, thank you for helping me."

A smile tugged at her mouth and she relaxed a little into her chair. "It's okay." She shrugged it off. "I can't have you failing and being fired can I? How would I afford this place alone?"

I pulled her out of her chair and against my chest. "I love you," I mumbled against her lips as I kissed her softly. "So much."

She smiled and wrapped her arms around me, raising on her toes to press us together even closer. "There's that adoring aspect, you giant softie."

I chuckled. "You love it."

Her nose wrinkled but she allowed it. "I do."

"A look into the future," I teased, "Just two more months and you'll be saying those two words in front of everyone we know."

Her head rested on my shoulder and she sighed softly. "I can't believe you talked me into marrying you."

"I didn't talk you into it," I laughed. "You actually jumped for joy when I asked you!"

"You have no way of proving that."

"You have no way of proving you didn't," I countered and she lifted her head to glare at me. Even though I knew she was going to get me back later, I couldn't help grinning at her. She really was just too beautiful, inside and out, to not become completely consumed by, and the fact I was getting to marry her in just eight weeks? Well, that just about made me the luckiest man alive.


	12. Take A Message: The Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca's not about to just let Jesse get away with his actions two weeks ago.

"Jesse, is that you?" she calls from the kitchen, stirring the sauce in its pot lazily. She's pretty sure he's not going to approve of her attempt at dinner - her cooking skills are less than passable - but she wants to at least make an effort on this special day.

"...being overly dramatic, just calm down for a second." His voice drifts into the room from the living room and she hears him sigh, presumably into his phone. She brushes off her hands and lowers the heat, stepping through the doorway to see him pacing in front of the couch, his jacket hanging off one arm. "Benji stop -"

"You okay?" she mouths to him, stepping closer to him as he shakes his head with a faint smile.

He mouths back what she thinks is something about a 'failed magic trick' and she chuckles quietly, turning back to the kitchen before an idea strikes. She's been waiting for her chance ever since her literal wake up call that ended in him being highly inappropriate (okay, so she'd partly let him, but that really doesn't need to be factored in at the moment), and now, after waiting two weeks for the moment to exact her revenge, she has found it.

A little nervously - because this kind of taunting isn't exactly something she's overly comfortable with - she begins to step slowly; deliberately; swinging her hips; and she doesn't need to be looking at him to know he's checking her out as she walks away. Her outfit of choice of a pair of girl boxers and her old band shirt from when she was sixteen lend perfectly to the movement. An excited thrill runs up her spine and when she reaches the door, she rests an arm on it as she looks over her shoulder to see him biting his lip, his eyes running up her body. When he gets caught staring he looks quickly away towards the TV, using his toes to pull of his shoes.

Emboldened by his reaction, she runs into the kitchen to turn off the stove and instead searches the fridge for something... Anything that will make him uncomfortable as he tries to calm down his best friend. Finding the perfect solution, she sneaks back to the door, leaning lazily against it with her hip jutting out when he has his back turned.

The whipped cream can dispersing draws his attention and he turns just in time to see her licking it slowly off her finger, raising her eyebrows suggestively as he swallows hard.

"B-Benji, seriously just because you lost the rabbit does not..." She does it again and he trails off, watching hypnotically. "Does not mean you can't be a magician."

She slinks over to him, feeling ridiculously girly and a little uncomfortable with the whole thing, and she aims right for him, watching as he swallows thickly. She brushes past him, her hand lingering as it grazes across his thigh, and very deliberately bends over, putting the canister on the coffee table.

He's trapped on the phone, trying to be a good friend, just looking on helplessly as his girlfriend raises on her toes to run her fingers over the DVDs like she's innocently mulling over what to watch, her shirt riding up and revealing the bottom of one of her tattoos.

He hates her.

(Almost as much as he loves her, because _wow_  is she taking his breath away right now.)

"I'm sure Flopsy is around somewhere. Have you checked under the bed? That's where she was last time." She spins around, bored of what she's doing, and instead pushes his shoulder as she walks towards him, smirking at the surprised expression on his face as he falls onto the sofa. She hikes a leg over him so she's straddling his lap, just staring at him expectantly, eyes flickering between his phone and his dark eyes that are boring into her in a way that makes her tingle all over.

"How about under the fridge? She was there the first time, wasn't she?" She can tell he knows what she's doing but she doesn't really care too much, because all she wants is to tell him her news and then celebrate with him in ways only he can help with.

Except his gaze is now challenging, because she's pretty sure he can see the tiny shred of desperation in her expression that he pinpoints quickly enough to smirk devilishly, his free hand trailing slowly over the bend of her knee. He continues to coach Benji, his voice breaking as her fingers travel under his shirt and along the waistband of his jeans. No way is he winning this game. This is her revenge, and he's not about to hijack it and turn this back around on her.

So when her breathing hitches sharply at his hand boldly dipping under the cotton of her underwear, his palm pressing into her spine, she knows she needs to step up her game.

"She can't have gotten far, she must be-" He grits his teeth in a hiss as she attaches her lips to his neck, biting down harshly on that place she discovered nearly four years ago in his dorm room late one night, the one she knows drives him bat shit crazy. His fingers dig into her hip and she kisses the spot sweetly, her hands still dancing around under his shirt.

"She must be somewhere," he finally finishes.

"Are you okay?" she hears Benji question hesitantly and it takes every shred of strength she has not to dissolve into laughter at how Jesse pokes her childishly, knowing she can hear.

"I'm fine," he says in a restrained tine. She pulls away a little to kiss him cheekily on the nose, rolling off his lap and getting up to go back to dinner. She's done teasing and she's worked him up enough to know he'll most likely find her in a few minutes, pushing her against the kitchen counter and -

His fingers wrap tightly around her wrist before she gets more than a few paces away and he pulls her back to him, and she's so surprised that she barely notices him dropping her to the couch until he's hovering over her with a wicked grin. "Sorry Benji," he says into the receiver, "I have to go punish Beca for being a complete tease."

She laughs out loud at the glint in his eyes and the way Benji sounds ridiculously flustered, shouting a quick, "good luck finding your rabbit!" before Jesse hangs up and tosses his phone away, staring down at her with the worst disguised look of amusement she's ever seen.

"You think that was funny?"

"Hilarious," she says as she laughs, pulling at the hem of his shirt. He keeps his hands firmly on either side of her head, not letting her get very far. He presses more of his weight down on her as she continues to laugh at his expense.

"You happy now? You got your revenge; congratulations."

"Very happy, thanks."

He relents - because there really in so resisting the way she's smiling at him - and kisses her with all the passion he can muster from her teasing, all the frustration of his long day at work that had ridiculously over run enough that she's already showered, judging by her change in clothes. It is only when she pushes on his chest to catch her breath that he smells the mildly unpleasant scent of cooking food, and that he realises how long she's been home waiting for him.

"Did you actually attempt cooking?" he asks in disbelief, looking towards the kitchen.

"Yes." She ducks under his arm and wiggles her way out so she can stand and collect herself. "I was trying to... I don't know, be..."

"Romantic?" he tries, but the scrunching up of her nose tells him he has the wrong answer. "Nice?"

She rolls her eyes as he sits with a huff. "I got some news today and I just thought maybe we could, you know, celebrate."

He looks confused for a moment before it hits him, and suddenly she's swept up in his arms, being swung around happily as he presses kisses all over her face and she laughs at his excitement. "You got the job?" he asks happily. "Tell me you got the job."

When he finally puts her down, she keeps her arm looped around his neck and smiles up at him. "I got the job."

He laughs breathlessly in happiness for her and kisses her hard. She melts into him, giddy with both her excitement and his own. The way he is looking at her so proudly is enough to make her blush heavily and he kisses her hot cheeks. "I'm so proud of you, Becs."

She shrugs it off, biting her lip as she drops her gaze to his shoulder. "Well, it was about time."

His fingers curl around her chin to bring her eyes back to his and she can see the cheeky sparkle to his eyes, a plan forming. "You know what this calls for?" he asks in a low voice, leaning towards her so his nose grazes hers.

"What?" she breathes.

"The fluffy handcuffs."

And before she can react he's thrown her over his shoulder, rushing towards the bedroom as she squeals at how the world has suddenly flipped (and okay, yes, a little in excitement too, because if there's one present from Amy that she's even remotely appreciated over the years, its those ridiculous pink handcuffs).


End file.
